Hadrian Potter: Darkness Rising
by AvatarVecna
Summary: Hadrian Potter has entered the magical world a darker person. Will he become its savior, its conqueror, or neither? Can he survive the plots to control his fate while deciding what to do with his life? Rated M for dark stuff and suicidal references. RW bashing, manipulative Dumbles. Cunning, powerful, dark HP/HG.
1. Prologue: The Early Years

Prologue: The Early Years

A.N.: This is my first story so be gentle. I don't have a beta yet, but I can't stand grammar problems; if you see some particular mistake fairly often, please alert me to it, and I'll try and fix it post haste. Any flames will be packed into lemon grenades and sent to life's house. I do not own any part of Harry Potter in any amount whatsoever—although I have made an offer to buy Luna Lovegood and Hermione Granger from Rowling, she hasn't responded positively yet. Anyway, on with the story!

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><p>—<em>November 2, 1981—<em>

Several hours after Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall had left Harry Potter on a doorstep and the sun was just coming over the hills, Petunia Dursley awoke to a loud crying noise. She got up and went to check on Dudley, but it wasn't him crying. She followed the noise to its source (could someone in the neighborhood have had a baby without her knowing about it?) and found its origin: the toddler lying on her welcome mat. She saw the note addressed to her and, after reading it, was horrified. They were stuck with this _thing_? She heard Vernon moving around upstairs, and decided to put the little freak in the cupboard under the stairs for now; Vernon could help her figure out what to do about this...this...injustice later; once they'd had some breakfast, perhaps.

_—September 11, 1985—_

Hadrian Potter (who most people called Harry) woke up to the pounding on his cupboard door: a sharp noise that repeated several times and was forceful enough to make dust fall from the "ceiling" of his "room". As always, it was his aunt Petunia who woke him from his fitful slumber at the crack of dawn to tell him his list of chores for the day; how she was able to screech these things at him in a whispered tone was a mystery to him. There were several rules in the Dursley home—at least, there were for Harry_—_and the most important two rules were do what you're told and don't ask questions.

One of the only questions Harry had ever asked was about what happened to his parents. According to Aunt Petunia, he'd been dropped off by his parents, who hadn't wanted to deal with the responsibility of raising a child, and that when she had tried to contact them about him, the reply she eventually got was from a bobby arriving at the house to inform her of her sister's death; apparently, they had died in a head on collision with another driver after they'd a night of heavydrinking. The other driver had survived with minimum injuries, but neither of his parents were wearing seat belts at the time and took a trip through the windshield, leaving the Dursleys stuck with their freak child, who they took in, fed, and clothed out of the kindness in their hearts, of course, something Harry was reminded of at least once a week.

Still, life at #4 Privet Drive wasn't all bad: his cousin Dudley was almost always nicer than his aunt or uncle, who yelled at him often and, in his uncle's case, beat him occasionally. But lately, Dudley had taken to mocking Harry publicly, before turning around and apologizing privately; apparently, Vernon had bribed him into being mean to Harry with candy and other such treats. This saddened Harry; was he not supposed to be happy?

—_April 1, 1987—_

Hadrian Potter hated April Fool's day. He hated it with a passion. You see, it was the one day every year when his overly large cousin would be less likely to hold back from messing with him as his parents had told him to. Lucky for Harry, Dudley was a naturally morally sound person and only reluctantly went along with his parents in trying to please them. He also knew someone with authority when he met them, and never got on their bad side—a skill Harry often envied his cousin. Harry, you see, was a trouble magnet—he didn't seek out trouble, but it could find him on a regular basis, and trouble always meant a beating for "making the Dursleys look bad." As if they needed his help with that!

The point was that Dudley never got caught if he could help it, but on April Fool's Day, he had a free pass to beat on Harry and make the Dursleys proud. Harry had once hoped that someone would make the Dursleys stop so he and Dudley could be friends again.

...

Yeah, right. That would never happen. This was his personal hell, and it was never going to end.

—_July 31, 1988—_

Hadrian Potter lay in his cupboard. Today, his uncle had decided he was old enough to be beaten with regulation sports equipment and had taken the day off to figure out what was most efficient at thrashing his nephew. Dudley had conveniently gone to Piers house for the day, so as not to be forced to participate. At breakfast, before the beatings, he had been forced to cook twice as much food as usual—Uncle Vernon would need a snack (or five) to keep his energy up after all—while Harry, as usual, was only allowed a lukewarm glass of water and a crust of near-rotten bread. He was then made to do his chores; only then would the beatings begin.

...

The beatings had been on and off for six hours before Harry was thrown into his cupboard with enough force to break his arm if it hadn't been broken already. As he listened to his Uncle trudge up the stairs, he whispered to himself "Happy Birthday to me...Happy Birthday to me..."

—_June 10, 1989—_

Hadrian Potter stood at the edge of the school roof, wondering how he'd gotten here. Last he remembered, Dudley's gang had been chasing them (although Dudley never participated, to appease his conscience). He'd had jumped behind the trash cans and found himself on the roof, thirty feet off the ground. Dudley's gang was in summer school and one of them had suggested to the Durlseys that Harry bring them some lunch every day, insisting that the school didn't feed them enough during the summer sessions. The fact that it was a good two kilometers to the school from Privet Drive was not lost on the Durleys. What's more, no matter what they wanted to eat that day, it always had gone soft or cold by the time he reached the school, and they would beat him up. Then they would complain to his relatives that he had not delivered the food to them, or was trying to poison them, and so his uncle would give him a beating. Once more, he wished for a way to make his horrible life end.

Then it hit him: it could end. Now that he thought about it, he remembered an old saying he'd heard the Dursleys use from time to time: "If you can't take the heat, get out of the kitchen." Thinking back on his life, Harry was saddened to think that there wasn't a single thing in living memory that had given him any joy or happiness. His relatives had always told him that the world didn't care about freaks like him; they only cared about power and control. They certainly cared about it, and no one else had ever proven otherwise. As Harry thought back over his life, as he recalled every insult, every bruise and broken bone, every broken nose, every time he'd been locked in his cupboard without food or water for days on end, a pain began growing in his chest. The thing about pain, he thought, is that it is a privilege reserved for the living.

The pain was becoming unbearable, all consuming, and it only got worse as he stepped closer to the edge of the roof. This only served to further his resolve, to keep walking forward, if only to end the pain. The hurt in his heart told him that his innocence was now lost for all time, now that he'd come to terms with reality. His head hurt too, but that pain seemed focused in his scar. Looking over the edge, he could see the ground several meters below. He knew such a fall was not guaranteed to kill him—that is, unless he landed head-first. Taking a last deep breath, he slowly tipped forward and fell, headfirst to his death.

...

...

...

After an indeterminate amount of time, he became aware of his surroundings. He was disappointed and shocked beyond belief to discover that he was still at the school—even though the world looked like a photo with the colors switched—and that the pain was still there. It was different, though.

It was unimaginably worse.

The pain filled his entire being; every cell in his body screamed of it, but it was an emotional pain. The pain was all-consuming, but he found he could bear it, somehow. He tried to stand up, and noticed that he seemed much taller than before; where once, he could barely see over the hand rail next to the stairs, he now nearly bumped his head on the ceiling. As he walked through the school, he felt what seemed to be the source of the pain; a lack of happiness that ate away at his very being. He also knew that, somehow, the pain was a good thing. He had met powerful people before; some people almost seemed to have a physical presence to go with their power. And he felt the _POWER_ his pain gave him. It was pure, raw _POWER_. It was fueled by the poisonous ache that spread to every cell in his body; it filled his blood and screamed out of every pore, forming a tangible, almost visible aura that he could feel fruitlessly searching for people anywhere nearby. All seeping from his heart, when his innocence had shattered.

He knew then that this was exactly what he needed. He wasn't sure why, but whatever had happened to him had made him powerful; powerful enough to make his life better, even if it was still with the Durlseys. He wandered outside and, without giving it a thought, shifted through reality until he arrived at Privet Drive.

As he walked towards #4 (at least, he thought he was walking), he could feel the suffering that filled the building; the hatred his relatives had for him was expected, but...jealousy? Fear? He was confused for a moment, before dismissing it. Even if they hadn't been jealous or afraid before, they would be now. Best of all, their wish for normalcy would keep them from reporting it: Hadrian knew that whatever had happened to him was most definitely not normal.

Before this point in his life, he had feared questions, been to afraid to seek out answers, to demand the truth. But now, he had the _POWER_ to demand answers, to satisfy his curiosity. His mind made up and his a way to achieve his new purpose in sight, he entered the house. If any of the neighbors had been home, they would have heard two high-pitched wails reverberate through the streets before being struck deathly silent.

A.N: Alright, that's all for now. I'm sure a number of you will guess what happened to Harry, but please don't ruin it for everyone else. Please review, and for the love of chocolate, if you don't have any constructive (read: _**CONSTRUCTIVE MEANS NO FLAMES**_) criticism, I am open to suggestions.


	2. You're A Wizard, Hadrian

A.N.: Hello everyone! To those of you who gave the prologue a review, thank you! To those who didn't, thanks for reading! Please R&R this chapter too. I do not own Harry Potter or any part of the universe he inhabits. If you see something you've read in another story, it's probably something I've seen elsewhere and incorporated into my story; I've been ghosting through this site for a few years and have read so many stories I can't always remember exactly where a single specific idea came from. If you see such a thing, tell me so I can give credit where it's due at a later point. Enjoy the story!

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><p>Chapter 1: You're A Wizard, Hadrian<p>

—_August 1, 1991—_

Hadrian Potter (Harry to friends and family) awoke to the harsh sounds of his alarm clock going off—always at eight, right on the dot. He turned it off with an out-flung arm before clambering out of bed to start the new day. After his spending several minutes getting showered and dressed, he descended the stairs to the kitchen where an familiar sight greeted him. Harry's aunt Petunia, the only true relative he had in the house, was hard at work cooking breakfast for her two charges (Vernon had usually gone to work already by this point, to avoid Harry in case he couldn't control him infamous temper). Dudley was up and, as usual, was shoveling in bacon and eggs at a remarkable pace, pausing only to give a short "Good Morning" to Harry before returning to his food. Harry gave a brief smile; he and Dudley had gotten along much better since his little epiphany, much to Vernon's displeasure.

Harry sat down at the table and immediately received a plate of food from his aunt. His frown was barely noticeable as he began eating: she wasn't usually so prompt; something was going to go wrong this morning, he could tell. He was able to figure it out almost instantly: there was a single letter left on the table from the mornings post, and it was addressed to him. What's more, it also reeked of the _POWER_. He'd never encountered _POWER _that wasn't his before, and was unsure what to expect. Deciding not to take any chances, he reached out to the letter with his own POWER, surrounding and smothering the other _POWER_ out of existence. Satisfied that the letter was now untainted, he finished his breakfast and opened his letter.

Scanning the letter, he turned to face his aunt, who was watching on nervously, and raised one eyebrow. He had little patience for the cowardly woman, and he showed his disdain in many ways: namely, avoiding speaking to her. Actually, he avoided talking to anyone he perceived as either useless or weak, but she fit both requirements. She quickly began explaining: "When I was a child, my sister Lily, your mother, discovered she could...do things, just like you did. She was invited to attend a school called Hogwarts somewhere in Scotland that could teach her how to use her abilities." Seeing the question in his eyes, she answered hastily "Vernon and I are in agreement: the quicker you've learned...it, the sooner you can legally leave this house, so...we wish for you to go. It will see you gone from this home by the age of fifteen, possibly even sooner—something everyone would like, I think."

"Supplies?" Harry asked, managing to work a drawl into the one-word sentence.

His aunt quickly replied "There is a place I could bring you to where you could do all of your shopping; it includes a bank where your parents left some money for your schooling. I assume you'd rather handle it all yourself?" she asked. Receiving a nod in reply, she continued "We could go there today, if you like, to get it out of the way." Another nod. "Alright then. When you're ready, I'll be waiting in the car." She turned off all the cooking equipment then left the room as quickly as she could.

"Hey, Harry? When you get to your new school, make sure not to let any punks mess with you, all right?" Dudley asked with a smirk. Harry smiled and gave another nod before taking his plate to the sink and heading for the car. Dudley had always been the least affected by his aura of the Dursleys. He got in the backseat, and his aunt drove away from Privet Drive in the general direction of London. On the way there, he reflected on how far he'd come from the abused boy he had been not even two years ago. The Dursleys listened to him because he had power, the only thing that could get a positive response from them. He knew when he'd first triggered the POWER that if he couldn't control it, it wouldn't be of any use to him at all. So from that day forward, he practiced and practiced, and was finally able to cause the change without doing anything...drastic.

Throughout it all, the lessons his relatives had taught him over the years were always at the forefront of his thoughts: namely, power is the only thing that matters. However, having seen some of the things his relatives had done, he knew that if you had power and used it for the wrong reasons, it was worse than not having power at all. Once this particular epiphany occurred to him, he took it upon himself to make the world a better place one little piece at a time.

He had started at school, where Dudley's gang had continued to harassing those who were smaller and weaker than they were. Harry put a stop to that soon enough: even those second-rate thugs could feel the power rolling off him that day. Coincidentally, they had never messed with him again, although they shot him nasty looks every once in a while. Once that started, he made more friends—or at least, he thought he had made friends. It turned out they just wanted protection from the bullies; eventually, they wanted more from him, and when he was unwilling to provide, they left. He had withdrawn into himself; he now knew he couldn't just trust people; everyone had a motive. Some people were true friends for a while, but most of them moved away when their parents realized how bad the locals were. Seeing that they had reached London, Harry put such thoughts aside and began thinking about magic. Just yesterday, the POWER within him had increased; that yesterday was his birthday meant that had to be more than coincidence. Perhaps there were certain ages where magic got more powerful; he was sure that the _POWER_ was an aspect of his magic in some way, although probably not a common one.

They arrived at Charring Cross Road, parking at the department store across the street from their destination: The Leaky Cauldron. As Harry approached the pub, he noticed that the people walking past seemed not to see it. Aunt Petunia confirmed this (she couldn't see it either) and told him she would be waiting there for him come three o' clock. Then she drove off, leaving Harry to fend for himself—but then, he was just fine with that.

Pulling on his hood, he entered the pub, which was filled with people having a drink or talking to friends. He noticed one man stirring his coffee by pointing his finger at it while he read the news (what's more, the pictures seemed to move). A small group of children in one corner were playing some sort of card game that apparently involved small explosions, while their parents sat nearby, talking with acquaintances, presumably. Harry walked up to the bartender and quietly asked how to get into the Alley. The man told him that he would need to tap three particular bricks in the Alley behind the pub, then went with him to give a demonstration. Declining, Harry thanked the man before going into the alley and doing as instructed. The wall opened up into an archway, revealing a line of shops filled with magical gear and toys. He moved through the Alley, glancing at the various shops and the wonders on display, but not feeling particularly surprised—it was magic, after all, it was supposed to be impressively scintillating.

As his aunt had suggested, he first went to Gringotts Bank, which was run by strange creatures. He approached the front desk and quietly asked to be brought to the vault his aunt had said should be waiting for him. He gave the creature his name and informed it, after its own inquiry, that he had no key. It pulled a small bowl and an intricate-looking knife from the desk and instructed him to spill a little blood into the bowl so they could determine if he was who he claimed to be. Harry rolled up his left sleeve and slashed the dagger across his wrist, directly over his still-healing scars from the last time he'd done so. The creature noticed this, but pretended not to (or didn't care) and took some readings before pouring the blood into a strange device on his desk. It spoke some words that Harry couldn't understand and the blood solidified, turning a golden colour in the process.

The creature took the newly-made key and, after calling for "Griphook", handed the key to another creature that had rushed up. It then told him to follow "Griphook" to his vault, also informing him that his account manager wished to see him about a few matters of importance. Nodding his acknowledgment, Harry followed "Griphook" to a sturdy-looking cart that, once they had boarded, whisked them away at breakneck speeds. The feeling of the air speeding past his face was quite pleasant for Harry, and all too soon, they had arrived at his vault.

Exiting the cart, Griphook took the key, inserted it into the vault door, and slid a single finger down its side. The massive lock began clicking and whirring. While it did so, Griphook commented on how, were anyone other than a Gringotts goblin to do that, they would be sucked into the vault and held there until discovered, punished, and released. Harry asked how often they checked, and was informed that the vaults were checked once a decade or so. Harry allowed himself a brief smirk before finding himself in awe of the mountain of gold, silver, and bronze that lay before him.

"How much can be removed at once?" Harry asked Griphook.

"As this is only your trust vault, it is refilled to this amount—25,000 galleons—every year on the summer solstice. However, until you come of age, you can withdraw up to 1,000 galleons at a time, and only up to 10,000 per year. The rest goes toward schooling costs, paying medical bills, and other such things as they may come up."

"How does one carry 1,000 galleons around in their pockets?" Harry asked. "Also, could you tell me the conversion rates between currency types, both magical and muggle?"

"Certainly. As to the first question, Gringotts sells expanded money bags for just such a purpose-the adult version has no limit on how much can be withdrawn at a time and is directly linked to ones vaults. The version of the bag for minors is slightly different, limiting their access as stipulated by their parents' instructions. Such a bag costs 25 galleons. As for currency, seventeen sickles are worth one galleon and twenty-nine knuts are worth one sickle. The knut is worth about 24 pence currently, so one galleon is worth 113 pounds and 39 pence. This rate doesn't often fluctuate because trade between the wizarding world and the non-magical world is rather limited. Conversion rates to foreign currency is not something I know offhand."

Harry thought about all of this for a minute, before saying "How about 10 galleons for the bag? 25 seems awful high."

Griphook immediately replied "15 galleons."

"12," Harry returned.

"Deal," Griphook said, pulling out a small bag and snapping his fingers. It shone for a moment, the returned to normal. He handed the bag to Harry and, once he'd received payment, told him "Most pure-bloods don't know how much their money is worth and just pay the price we tell them. The first price is almost always quite high, but they usually pay it anyway."

"Fascinating," Harry drawled, looking through the vault one last time before exiting. Griphook closed the door, then it was back to the cart of doom. They reached the lobby and Griphook led him through a maze of corridors. After about six minutes, they reached a pair of gargantuan ornate doors featuring etchings of great battles long since over and warriors worthy of their own epic. The doors opened of their own accord, admitting the two figures. Inside, another creature sat behind a large desk, almost hidden by the pile of papers that littered it.

"Manager Thrashgrab? Harry Potter to see you about the Potter accounts," Griphook said to the aged goblin behind the massive desk.

"Hmm? Oh, yes, send them in, Griphook," the creature said. Once they had entered, Griphook bowed to Thrashgrab and left. "Good afternoon, Mr. Potter. As you're no doubt aware, I am the account manager for the Most Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter. Now, according to your parents' will, if you were not being cared for by one of the adults that they wished for you to live with, then upon your 11th birthday, you were to gain control of your family vaults and begin managing your businesses...to a certain extent. We know your parents' will wasn't followed because the clause activated the Potter family vaults late last night, so virtually complete control of the Potter vaults should be connecting to you now." As he said this, Harry felt something enter his mind that had an almost foreign feel to it. Upon inspection, he discovered it was indeed just the vault information and not a mental intrusion of some sort. "The second matter we need to discuss is that of your godfather, Sirius Black."

"Godfather?" Harry asked, his confusion obvious. "I didn't know that I had a godfather. I thought that if I had one, I never would have gone to the Dursleys. What happened to him?"

"He was accused of several crimes," Thrashgrab said. Continuing carefully, he said "Among them the murder of thirteen people and betraying the Potters to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named." Harry's rage over this statement was obvious: several objects around the office were being slowly lifted into the air. Slowly, the unnatural chill that had filled the room receded as Harry exercised some control over his outburst.

"You said," Harry began slowly after several minutes of reigning in his temper, "that he was accused of these things. Were you implying that it wasn't proven?"

"That is correct, Mr. Potter," Thrashgrab replied. "The Ministry of Magic held him for several days and then threw him into prison. There was no trial; it was declared that one wasn't necessary because of the overwhelming amount of circumstantial evidence. Not to say he is innocent," he added quickly, "but it hasn't been proven either way."

"Is there a way to find out?" Harry asked, "Or a way to get him a trial?"

"Either path would be difficult to follow…" Thrashgrab began, before his eyes lit up. "Ah, yes; since the Potter Will names him your godfather and he has been accused of betraying his parents, you could call for a trial under the pretense of wanting to know why he did it. It's a win-win: if he is innocent, he goes free and a great injustice is stopped; if he is guilty, then we will know for sure anyway and Gringotts can legally give out concessions to those harmed most by Sirius Black's actions. Unfortunately, only an adult can make such an accusation; you would have to get your magical guardian to do so on your behalf."

"Who is my magical guardian?" Hadrian asked.

The goblin grimaced "As I said before, if your parents' will had been followed, you would have gone to Sirius Black or, failing that, a number of other adults. However, on November 1 of 1981, Albus Dumbledore called a meeting of the Wizengamot to announce the fall of the Dark Lord at your hands; during this meeting, he proposed that the Potter Will be sealed and that he be named your guardian so as to place you somewhere safe. Gringotts was forbidden from using our own copy of the Will as evidence to change this guardianship, but not for anything else. What is more, Albus Dumbledore is one of the witnesses for the Potter Will, and would have been trusted to make sure it was carried out."

"It sounds suspicious to me; I suppose that he won't be investigating on my behalf, then. If that was all you needed to discuss—" Harry began, before being cut off.

"Not quite, Mr. Potter," the goblin said, smiling nastily. "Because of the specific circumstances that gave you control of the Potter vaults combined with the Ministry's own laws, you are an emancipated minor. You are now Lord Potter and have full control of both the vaults and the various estates owned by the Potter family. What's more, you are your own guardian for all intents and purposes," Thrashgrab said, smiling a menacing smile. He then pulled out a small box. Inside the box was a pair of rings. They were made of a gleaming metal that appeared to be solid gold, but seemed even more awe-aspiring. Laid into the ring was a blood-red ruby with a silver phoenix in the center of the gem face. Around the edge of the ruby were the words "quod non occidas me fecit Vestibulum error."

"These are the Potter family rings," Thrashgrab said grandly. "Each Family ring can only be worn by the Lord or Lady of the House, as appropriate, and can only be removed by one of the same. At will, you can make the ring undetectable except to those you wish to see it; it can also put up a shield at a moment's notice—or, in case of emergency, serve as a weak magical focus. It won't be as good as a wand, but it would allow you to use weaker magic to defend yourself temporarily. It also functions as a portkey: just say 'activate' and the name of the property you wish to go to, and it will take you there." With this, he handed the box to Harry.

Immediately, his mind was ablaze with new information, seeming to course between it and the ring, before going silent. After a minute, he realized the effect of the rings: he had gained knowledge of the workings of the Wizengamot in ages past; how the laws worked, what his rights were as a child and as a member of the wizard court, and even a great deal of information on each of the other members, including who their current allies were. He knew the significance of his being of the Head of the Most Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter, and what the ring signified.

"What of the other ring," Harry asked after a minute or so of information overload.

"It will appear on the finger of whoever becomes Lady Potter when such a thing becomes legal and official," Thrashgrab replied.

"If you are able, would you please continue to manage the Potter accounts?" Harry asked politely. "I'm sure that you know much better than I do the risks and gains involved with investments and such. Also, how can I contact you while at school?"

"I would be most willing to continue handling the Potter accounts; it pays quite well, and I have a feeling that you are going to cause a lot of big people a lot of big problems," he said craftily. "As for contacting me, send a letter under your title to Gringotts and it will be sent to me. May I presume that you wish for Gringotts to look into the matter regarding Sirius Black on your behalf, Lord Potter?"

"You may, and I do," Harry replied, his mind reeling still from the information the ring had bestowed upon him. After a few more minutes of discussing the Potter affairs, Lord Potter disguised his ring, left the office and was escorted back to the lobby. Reaching the lobby, Harry thanked Griphook for his assistance and, after receiving his vault key, left the bank to purchase his supplies. The first thing on his list was a wand, so he headed towards "Olivander's Wand Shop

Entering Ollivander's shop, he felt a little odd—as though he was being observed. Feeling a strange mind nearby, Harry turned around and was surprised to see an old man creeping up behind him. The old man froze before bursting out into raucous laughter. "Never…has anyone…been able to…detect my…subtleties before!" After he'd calmed down, the odd old man introduced himself. "I am Garrick Ollivander, owner of Ollivander's Wand Shop. How can I help you …" stopping, then frowning, he peered closely at Harry. He hmm'd, then said "There is something...off about you, Mr. Potter. Ah, well. It was many years ago that I paired your parents with their wands. For your father…mahogany, eleven inches long with a core of the heart string of a particularly old Chinese Fireball; it was quite pliable and suited towards Transfiguration. Your mother on the other hand, was preferred by a willow wand: ten and one quarter inches, core consisting of a single hair from a newborn unicorn, rather swishy; excellent for charms work. But then, you're here to get your own wand, aren't you?" he asked rhetorically before turning abruptly and disappearing into the stacks of wands cluttering the old shop. Harry quickly followed. As they walked, the wandmaker asked "Which is your wand arm?"

"I'm right handed, sir," Harry replied. The wandmaker only "hmm'd" in response.

Reaching their destination, Mr. Ollivander beckoned him forward. Once Hadrian was standing on the designated point, a silver tape measure flew at him and began measuring every conceivable thing; meanwhile, Mr. Ollivander was walking through the shop, often stopping to pull out a single box before moving a few more feet or so. By the time he had made a full circuit around the store, the tape measure was measuring the depth of his belly button. Ollivander snapped his fingers, causing the tape measure to fall at his feet. He began handing Harry wands of every shape, size, wood type, and core type available. The first wand he tried (oak and phoenix feather) was almost immediately snatched out of his hand. The next one (birch and hippogriff feather) was also taken before he even got the chance to wave it. And so it continued. Harry tried wand after wand, only getting two close matches—a holly wand with phoenix feather core that Ollivander seemed disappointed hadn't made a stronger connection, and an alder wand with unicorn hair for the core.

Setting the two close matches aside, the odd man turned to look at him. As he did, Harry felt a sort of probe touch his mind for the briefest instant. The mental probe withdrew, and the wand-maker pondered for a while before he went to a great wooden chest by the desk. Taking out a tarnished silver key, he unlocked the intricately carved chest. As he slowly opened it, he said "This trunk holds two dozen wands, Mr. Potter, made by my ancestor, the first Ollivander to run Ollivander's Wand Shop. It is rumored that he was a seer and made these wands for special people who he believed would visit one day and would need…an extraordinary wand." Finishing he took out a single box and, after closing and locking the lid to the trunk, opened the wand box and removed the wand inside. He handed it to Harry and the both of them knew this was the one: Harry was surrounded by a golden glow for a moment; it connected to him instantaneously and merged its magical power with his—an unbelievable amount of raw power. He sent a questioning look a Ollivander, who also sported a look of wonder.

"Ebony," Ollivander said, almost whispering, "eleven and one quarter inches long with a core of the heart string from a newborn female horntail. It is an unyielding and an extremely powerful wand wood—one very rarely used, or, indeed, necessary. It is almost perfectly balanced, with a slight preference for water- or emotion-based spells, while being slightly weaker in regards to healing. You will do great things with wand, Mr. Potter; of that, I am sure."

Continuing to make his way to the front of the store, he continued "That is the fifth wand ever removed from that box, Mr. Potter, and the first in my time. If indeed the rumors about the first Ollivander are true, then a connection of that strength between you and your wand would not be unexpected." Giving Hadrian a last, sneaky half-smile, he seemed to lose his focus for a second before returning to reality and informing him that the wand would be 17 galleons. A bit unnerved, Harry handed over the money and left behind Ollivander and his odd store.

A few minutes later, he exited from the Traveler's Haven with his new trunk: five compartments, complete with lightening charms, blood-locks, a potions lab, a pantry, and a library for all of the books he planned to buy. He had spent quite a bit on it, but he wasn't worried. His next stop was at True Vision, home to a healer specializing in eyes. He left with 20/20 vision and could now see in the dark. The other, more interesting add-ons were too expensive for his self-inflicted budget. For now, anyway...

He then went to the bookstore, intent on learning as much about this new world as possible. After nearly an hour and a half, he exited with a small basket. This basket, much like his moneybag, was more than it seemed: it could expand on the inside to carry up to 250 kg of books. Harry had taken advantage of this, buying the basic textbooks for all his core classes, a few books on magical history that weren't required, several books on the basics of Arithmancy and Ancient Runes. He got some books on goblin customs—he hadn't known goblins existed when he'd gone to the bank, and wanted to avoid offending them—as well as some books on magical culture. He got a huge tome detailing every magical creature ever discovered, as well as notes on some creatures that were only speculated at. He also got a couple of books on the Mind Arts—better to be prepared them oblivious, in his opinion. The books altogether had been rather costly, but he should be fine so long as no other costly purchases were made...

He saw a shop surrounded by other boys his age and younger, all pining after the broom on display. "The new Nimbus 2000...the fastest ever!" Voices carried from the front of the store all the way across the street. Harry considered it, then decided against it: he could fly whenever he wished, once he got to his new school. He moved on to the Apothecary next door and purchased potions supplies as per his letter, making sure to buy plenty of extra supplies just in case. His next stop brought him to Madame Malkin's Robe Shop, where he was fitted for the best robes money could buy: the base material was Acromantula Silk, the strongest fabric the wizarding world had to offer, with strategically placed dragon scales for defensive purposes. A few dragon hide vests also became part of his magical wardrobe. His funds now lowered to less than 300 galleons, he headed to the animal store near the end of the alley—he could feel something calling to him.

Upon entering, several animals began making a small racket; either trying to get his attention, or reacting to the sliver of aura he had while in his 'normal' body. he let the feeling guide him until he stood in front of a small cage that appeared to be empty. A small, faded sign hung from it that read 'Nargle.' He asked the young man at the counter how much he wanted for the Nargle and the female snowy owl (who gave him a similar, if stronger feeling). The gangly teen said the snowy owl would be 10 galleons for the owl, the cage, and a healthy supply of owl treats. He also said that he was pretty sure the nargle cage was empty, but that according to the price guide under the counter that the creature was worth twice as the owl. Harry paid for both creatures and went on his way.

As he looked into the owl's eyes, he felt a tendril of thought touch his mind. He knew, based on what he'd read so far that he'd just initiated a familiar bond with the owl. He looked at the cage and felt another such tendril after about thirty seconds of intense staring. Slowly, as if responding to the bond, a creature began appearing right before his eyes: a large cat-looking thing with overly large eyes and alternating purplish-blue striped fur. As it fully appeared, it seemed to pause for a second, then a wide grin split its face, revealing a mouth filled with razor-sharp teeth. Hadrian smiled right back at it before exiting the Alley.

—_September 1, 1991—_

Harry swiftly made his way towards platforms 9 and 10, confident that the Notice-Me-Not spell he'd cast on himself would keep any unwanted attention away-both muggle and magical. His ticket's enchantments were also quite interesting: whoever had placed them had done so in a way that any muggle would believe it to be a ticket for the train for platform 10. This was good, since platform nine and ten weren't accessible without a ticket. Recalling Tom's instructions, he reached out and felt the magic of the supposed pillar. He pushed his cart towards it and passed right through. He was greeted by a blood-red locomotive gleaming before him. He could feel the magic in the air, could feel it enveloping him. He saw a boy with medium length dreadlocks opening a box for the crowd of kids surrounding him, who all shrieked when a single hairy leg emerged from the box. Several feet away from the spectacle, a slightly pudgy boy was saying "Gran, I lost Trevor again." The sighing response was easy to understand; the boy probably lost 'Trevor' quite often. He noticed a small group of boys getting on the train together and a man with silky blond hair waving goodbye to them, but wasn't able to make out many details. Quickly, so as to avoid the crowds that would engulf him should his disguise charms fail (hey, it could happen), he lugged his trunk aboard the Hogwarts Express.

Harry found an out-of-the-way compartment and cast a few more Notice-Me-Not's on the door after entering. He levitated his trunk up to the rack and pulled out a book on Arithmancy. The class was essentially quantum physics at the lower levels and applied quantum physics once you'd mastered the basics. As for why he chose that book: he'd discovered that the concentration required to purposefully change into the other him was the same focus needed for spell work. Between that and his wand, he'd pretty much mastered everything wand related up to the third year stuff. He'd also read up on his own legend; it was good for a laugh, since as far as anyone knew, he was the only survivor from that night, and he'd never given an interview on it. He couldn't even remember that night!

His ride was rather boring: he practiced his magic, read some more books, and so on. After two hours or so, he put everything away and began working on his Occlumency; it was coming along nicely, but his defenses weren't all that impressive. Any amateur Legilimens would find only an endless abyss where his mind was supposed to be. A master of the art would immediately see past that charade and be able to access his innermost secrets. Eventually, a voice came over some sort of intercom system warning them that the train was approaching Hogsmeade station and they needed to get their robes on. As he had changed into his robes first thing, he ignored the announcement and went back to meditating. Finally, the train pulled into the station and everyone began disembarking.

Harry left his trunk and Hedwig (named for a famous Viking soothsayer) in his compartment, making sure to remove the enchantments he'd put up. Cheshire (okay, he couldn't always be so original) had decided to settle onto his shoulders—the extra weight was hardly noticed by the young lord. He hurried towards a loud voice yelling "Firs' years this way!" over and over. The source of the voice was a man almost 3 meters tall, and at least a whole meter wide. He wore a long, pocket-covered coat that could probably serve as a small tent for any normal man, with boots about the size of cooking pots and gloves to match. His face was covered in a scraggly beard and his eyes twinkled like a pair of black coals. As the platform emptied, the giant of a man said "Alrigh', is tha' ev'ryone? Good. M' name's Rubeus Hagrid. Keeper o' th' Keys and Grounds o' Hogwarts. I'll be escortin' yeh t' th' castle." With that, he started down a narrow path near the end of the platform. As the first years fell into line behind them, Harry took the chance to observe his year mates.

They had already formed into small groups: there were a few rather loud boys (including one particularly boisterous ginger) that were discussing their favorite sports and arguing which was best. Another group consisted of a slightly round boy and a pair of girls who seemed almost attached at the hip discussing their families. Another pair of groups seemed sort of together, but separated by gender: several snobbish girls on one side and several swaggering boys on the other. Another small group consisted of a rather small, platinum-blond boy flanked by what appeared to be two small gorillas with another snobbish looking girl hanging off of him. He looked rather annoyed at this, and Hadrian couldn't blame him: the simpering look on her face and her pug-like nose were not attractive traits, unless you were quite desperate indeed. Another group consisted of three girls, two of which were twins. The last person was all by herself: a girl with bushy hair that had her nose stuck in a book near the back of the line. He slowed down to join her; any of the others would afford him unnecessary attention.

"'Round this nex' bend, you'll get yer firs' glance o' Hogwarts," Hagrid said. Sure enough, their next turn revealed a magnificent castle right out of a fantasy novel. The children all stopped to stare in awe, even Harry. The castle's four towers seemed to reach into the sky forever, with only the moon just behind the largest tower giving any indication that they ceased their vertical ascent. Various gargoyles spotted the surface of the walls, while the slits of the parapets could just barely be made out from this distance. overall, it had a very mystical feeling to it, as if these young children had somehow stumbled into Avalon by accident. After a few more minutes of gawking, Hagrid urged them on; after a while, they reached the edge of a lake, where a small fleet of rowboats was docked, although there wasn't an oar in sight.

"No more'n four to a boat!" Hagrid called out. Harry got into one of the boats, and was followed by the girl and her book. They were joined by two girls from the larger pack, who seemed less snobbish than the others. Once everyone was seated, Hagrid yelled out "FORWARD!" The boats' means of propulsion was revealed to be magic; they glided soundlessly across the lake without needing to be rowed. The journey to the castle was slow and long. Harry felt relieved that they'd been spared the infamous Scottish rain this year; he wouldn't envy anyone having to make such a journey while it was raining cats and dogs. They reached a dock on the other side that was near the humongous front doors. As they were disembarking, Hagrid, who was helping people out, called out "Anyone missin' a toad?" One of the boys cried out "Trevor!" and ran towards Hagrid to collect the animal.

Now that they were closer, Hadrian could observe the castle in greater detail. The bricks forming the base of the castle looked to be taller than any of the first years, and were probably just as thick_—_and magically enhanced to boot. Slits in the walls_—_presumably built for archers, although he supposed wands could likely aim through them as well_—_were placed every few feet and seemed to be present on every floor up to the seventh, where what appeared to be pillars rather than bricks held up the wall above: a corridor open to the outdoors then...weather protected, perhaps? They approached the imposing double doors that served as the sole entrance in sight. They appeared to be solid adamantium, a magically made metal that could last for centuries without any sign of fatigue and was virtually impervious to both mundane and magical attacks; if the muggles ever bombed Hogwarts, it would be like in Looney Toons where the building was reduced to ashes, while the door was barely scratched. Furthermore, it was covered in metal bars fifteen feet long at least that looked to be part of the locking mechanism—and there were dozens of them!

Once they'd all disembarked, Hagrid asked "Ev'ryone alrigh'? You there, still got yer toad? Alrigh' then." With that, he lifted one gigantic fist and knocked three times. After several seconds, the doors opened to reveal a stern-looking woman wearing elegant robes. "Thank you, Hagrid. I'll take them from here." Hagrid bid them all goodbye and left, presumably to go join everyone else. The stern lady introduced herself as Professor McGonagall; she was the Transfiguration professor, the Head of Gryffindor house, and the Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts. She gave them a brief overview of the Hogwarts point system and the Houses themselves. One thing came across clearly: this was not a woman you should cross. After her speech was done, she departed for elsewhere in the castle, telling them to wait for her to return.

As soon as she'd left, everyone began talking at once about the respective houses and which one they expected/hoped to go to. This led to a discussion on the actual sorting ceremony: it was a closely guarded secret, apparently, so no one knew what it was until they were sorted. The red head was saying that his brothers had told him you had to wrestle a troll, while others were saying it was a magical demonstration. The girl had put down her book and was muttering spells under her breath in preparation. Harry dismissed both theories and passed the time listening to his classmates wild guesses (his favorite by far was based on how many of Professor Dumbledore's titles you could say from memory).

All conversation ceased, however, when a gaggle of specters floated through the wall, scaring the poor first years out of their wits, with a few exceptions. They appeared to be arguing about something called "Peeves" that apparently was causing a great deal of trouble. They stopped their conversation when they noticed the young children. A particularly hefty ghost greeted them and wished the frightened firsties a jolly "Good luck at the Sorting!" before they all floated off. Once McGonagall had returned, she led them through a couple of corridors that eventually led to the Great Hall. It was magnificent: thousands of candles floated a few meters above the tables, of which there were five (the four houses, presumably, and the head table). Overhead, the ceiling appeared to be non-existent, when in fact Harry knew it was charmed to mimic the sky above. The arches, pillars, and gargoyles that decorated the colossal chamber gave it an eerie feel. As they entered the hall, all the older students peered at them with strange looks, as if expecting some entertainment to take place. An old stool sat near the Head table, with the most faded, patchwork hat sitting on it. As the first years approached, led by the Deputy Headmistress, the brim of the hat split wide open and began to sing:

"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,

But don't judge on what you see,

I'll eat myself if you can find

A smarter hat than me.

You can keep your bowlers black,

Your top hats sleek and tall,

For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat

And I can cap them all.

There's nothing hidden in your head

The Sorting Hat can't see,

So try me on and I will tell you

Where you ought to be.

You might belong in Gryffindor,

Where dwell the brave at heart,

Their daring, nerve, and chivalry

Set Gryffindors apart;

You might belong in Hufflepuff,

Where they are just and loyal,

Those patient Hufflepuffis are true

And unafraid of toil;

Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,

if you've a ready mind,

Where those of wit and learning

Will always find their kind;

Or perhaps in Slytherin

You'll make your real friends,

Those cunning folk use any means

To achieve their ends.

So put me on! Don't be afraid!

And don't get in a flap!

You're in safe hands (though I have none)

For I'm a Thinking Cap!"

_"So, we just have to try on a hat, eh?"_ Hadrian thought to himself. _"Interesting."_

McGonagall spoke up: "When I call your name, come up here and try on the Sorting Hat." With that, she produced a scroll from her pocket, unrolled it, and began calling out names. "Abbott, Hannah," went to Hufflepuff, along with her friend, "Bones, Susan". "Boot, Terry" went to Ravenclaw, while "Bulstrode, Millicent" became the first Slytherin. the Sorting flew by: "Granger, Hermione", the girl with the book, ended up in Gryffindor, while the boy who'd lost his toad, "Longbottom, Nevile" also became a lion, although both of them took a while to be sorted. When "Malfoy, Draco" donned the hat, it called out "Slytherin!" almost immediately. Eventually, it reached the P's. "Parkinson, Pansy" went to Slytherin, while "Patil, Padma" and "Patil, Parvati" went to Ravenclaw and Gryffindor, respectively. Then it happened.

"Potter, Harry." The whispers started full blast; even Professor Dumbledore seemed interested. They only intensified as he walked towards the stool. He sat down and put on the hat. It slipped past his eyes, blocking out the rest of the hall. He heard a voice in his head. "It's not often a student has Occlumency shields. Oh, well, time to sort you. Let's see, Hufflepuff's right out; your loyalty has to be earned. As for Ravenclaw, you seek knowledge only as a means to an end. Gryffindor shows promise; you can't stand injustice in any form. But you prefer to think things through rather than charge ahead, don't you? Although there's a decent argument for each house, the strongest is for "Slytherin!"

Silence filled the hall. No one would have thought this was possible: Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, being sorted into Slytherin? There had to be a mistake. Dumbledore looked as if he'd swallowed a particularly sour lemon, while the turbaned professor looked intrigued. The man next to the latter looked confused for a second, before his face formed a mask of indifference. Harry calmly remove the hat and went to sit at his new table. He noted that a few of the older students were glaring at him, but for the most part, the seemed to be reevaluating him. After several seconds of silence, Professor McGonagall continued calling out names. The Sorting finished, Dumbledore stood and spoke a few random words: "Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!" With that he sat; as he did, the feast appeared. Harry noticed that the ginger from before was digging into his food like a wild boar: he felt a bit relieved that he wasn't sitting next to that boy.

The blond from before, once more surrounded by his entourage, asked him So...you're Harry Potter?"

"I prefer Hadrian. Otherwise, you are correct," Harry responded neutrally.

"You know," the blond began, "My godfather has been saying for years that you would be an arrogant tosser with no sense at all and an ego larger than this castle."

Harry took a while to respond, which he did: "Which you, being the Slytherin that you are, discounted on account of having no proof and waited for further information to form an opinion one way or the other...right?" The entire table turned to stare at him. "What? That's how it is. Slytherins are naturally less trusting than the other houses and will investigate before forming an opinion. Ravenclaw is much the same, except knowledge is the goal rather than a means to an end. Hufflepuffs trust easily; while this means they can get much accomplished through teamwork, if that trust is misplaced, they all fall apart. Finally Gryffindors will take a few facts and run with them, solely following their instincts. This means that their success will be directly proportional to the accuracy of said instincts. Mostly it means they will charge ahead, heedless of the consequences such actions hold. Gryffs also tend to have a higher sense of morality in general than the other houses, while Slytherins tend to analyze things too much to act in a morally justified manner. Most of those sorted into Gryffindor were probably told it was the best house of the four and just accepted it as the truth."

Seeing some nods and smirks around the table, he prepared to deliver his point. He chewed some green beans slowly and swallowed before continuing. "I wonder how many of you here in Slytherin are here because you mummies and daddies said it was the best without any other reason?" He noticed a good number of the Slytherins shift uncomfortably in their seats. "Food for thought," he finished before returning to his food.

The blond from before said "Well, anyway, I'm Draco, Draco Malfoy. This is Crabbe_—_" he gestured to Thing One, "_—_and Goyle," gesturing to Thing Two. "My family's been on the Wizengamot for several generations and are some of the most respected purebloods in England. The Potter family is also quite influential. Perhaps you would be interested in an...alliance of sorts?"

"Perhaps," Hadrian replied after thinking it over. "Assuming, of course that after my research into your family, such an alliance proves beneficial to me and that we can agree on certain...important topics. Until then, we could try to be friends, if you're interested."

"That sounds...interesting," the blond said after a few moments thought. "I don't think I've had a friend before."

"I've had a few," Harry said. "Not many, but enough." With that, he returned his attention to his meal.

Once they had finished eating, Dumbledore stood up. "Now that we are fed and watered, I have a few short announcements to make before we all depart for bed. The Forbidden Forest is so named because it is filled with the most deadly of creatures. Please keep in mind that you are not to go in there. This is not just a warning for the first years: a number of older students would do well to heed this warning, for once." Here his eyes seemed to be focused on a pair of gingers at the Gryffindor table, although his tone indicated amusement rather than warning. "Mr. Filch has informed me that the list of forbidden items has grown to 573 items in total: he full list is nailed to his office door. He has also asked me to remind everyone that magic is forbidden in the corridors. Finally, the third floor Charms corridor is forbidden to those who do not wish to die a very painful death." Harry stared at the evidently insane man who had told a school of children the location of two extremely dangerous areas and then told them to stay away: now they would seek it out more than if he'd stayed quiet! Apparently he wasn't the only one who thought so: several older students around the hall were giving him that special look reserved for those who preach nonsense.

"Now that such unpleasantness is done with, let us join our voices to sing the school song!" Harry noticed that several of the professors' smiles had become fixed on their faces. With a twirl of his wand, Dumbledore produced a gigantic golden ribbon which twisted and turned to form several lines to a song Harry had never heard of. "Pick your favorite tune and sing along!" Dumbledore proclaimed; incidentally, this accomplished the impossible feat of lowering Harry's opinion of the man's sanity even further than it already was. Sure enough, though, all of the students and staff soon took up the song, each in their own way.

Hogwarts, Hogwarts,

Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,

Teach us something please,

Whether we be old and bald

Or young with scabby knees,

Our heads could do with filling

With some interesting stuff,

For now they're bare and full of air,

Dead flies and bits of fluff,

So teach us things worth knowing,

Bring back what we've forgot,

Just do your best, we'll do the rest,

And learn until our brains all rot."

Everybody finished the song at different times. At last, only a pair of gingers sitting at the Gryffindor table were left, singing along to a very slow funeral march. As they finished singing, Dumbledore wiped a tear from his eye, saying "Ah, music! A magic beyond all we do here! Have a pleasant night, everyone!" With that, they were dismissed.

The Slytherin prefects led the new students through a maze of tunnels, eventually coming to a skeleton covered in some strange green fungus. The 7th year prefect spoke clearly but quietly to the skeleton, quietly enough that none of the first years heard what he had said. The wall behind the skeleton split in two, forming a pair of double doors leading into a high-class common room. The prefects quickly lead them inside. Only once the door had closed did they senior student say "That was mostly an example to you firsties: the password is secret for a reason: never speak it too loudly in case you've been followed by some stupid Gryff. The password this cycle is 'Vendetta'." He signaled to the fifth year prefects before leaving through some side tunnel.

Said fifth year took over. "My name is Marcus Flint. I am the current Slytherin Quidditch captain and fifth year prefect. I'm supposed to lay down the law for you firsties, so here it is: I don't care if you hate each other's guts; outside of the common room, you will present a unified front. If you've got a problem with another student, bring it up at the weekly meeting. You can arrange your own pecking order; again, we don't care, just deal with it. Try to follow the castle rules; if you can't manage that, at least don't get caught. If you do get caught, it's on your head." Seeing one of the new arrivals about to say something stupid, you shut them down preemptively: "Nott, is it? I don't care who your father is outside these walls. What matters to me and all the other upper years is how you help make Slytherin house look better."

Now he seemed to soften. "The other three houses see us as evil, particularly the Gryffs. It is part of your job as members of Slytherin house to dissuade the other students from this belief. That being said, if they can't prove we did it, we didn't do it, and any talk of evil or anything else is a moot point. If you have a problem that can't wait until the meeting, talk to Professor Snape about it. He's your Head of House and he tries to help us as much as he can with Dumbledore watching him like a hawk. Keep your grades up. Support Slytherin. Now go to bed." He pointed towards another side tunnel that apparently led to their quarters.

The boys and girls split up when the hallway did, leaving Harry with five other boys: Draco Malfoy, Theodore Nott, Blaise Zabini, Vincent Crabbe, and Gregory Goyle. The six rooms (they each had their own room) were laid out crooked in a way that put one particular room in the center. Taking the initiative, Harry took that room, bid them good night, and closed the door. Seeing his stuff appear in the room, he proceeded to put everything in its place before turning in.

Outside in the hall, five boys were staring at that same door, all but gaping. Finally, Nott said "You know what? I felt that aura when he sat down. He can have the head room." With that, he took the room to the left of the center. Malfoy took the one to the right, with Crabbe and Goyle taking the other two on the right. Blaise Zabini observed all of this before departing for his own room all the way on the left. But he was not the only one doing so.

Severus Snape stalked back to his quarters, confused by the sorting and the behavior of James Potter's spawn. He'd been expecting him to be sorted into Gryffindor and arrogantly defy the rules from the start. It didn't make any sense. Ho pondered this for a while. Reaching his office, he concluded that perhaps there was more Lily Evans in the boy than he'd thought possible.

Dumbledore, meanwhile, was seething over the boy's sorting: he was supposed to go to Gryffindor, make friends with the Weasley boy, and be perfectly malleable to his manipulations. So many plans, ruined! Where had it gone wrong? Bah, it didn't matter; he would fix...whatever it was and the boy would be under his thumb once more. Yes, he would have the boy examined by Poppy, and when proof of his abuse became clear, he, Dumbledore, would adopt the boy himself! It would also give him the opportunity to sift through his memories and plant mental commands to ensure such a result. He steepled his fingers together, saying "Excellent," in such a creepy manner, any muggleborn would be frightened by such a good impression of Mr. Burns.

Elsewhere, the turbaned Professor Quirrell appeared to be having an argument with himself. The results, no one could guess, thanks to the multitude of privacy charms in place, but one thing was clear: this Professor had plans for Hadrian Potter that would prove most interesting.

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><p>Well, that's it. Next update should be a good two weeks or so, but don't hold me to that. Like it? Hate it? Gathering your friends and neighbors into a mob to track me down? Give a guy some warning and tell me in a review (NO FLAMES!). Ten points if you guess what the phrase on the ring means (Google Translate won't quite get you there). Please read and review! It can't get better if I don't get feedback. Finally, for all my fellow Harmony lovers, have no fear: they will be friends after Halloween.<p> 


	3. Hoggy Warty Hogwarts

A.N.: Hello, everyone, here's the new chapter. Make sure to read and review, otherwise it can't get any better. As always, Ms. Rowling owns Harry Potter and the universe he lives in—I'm just using her basic ideas and twisting them into such a horrible, awful mess that even she won't claim it as hers—that's right, even worse than the Half-Blood Prince. That books only real purposes were a) giving Voldemort more background than any other character, b) killing off Dumbledore, and c) giving everyone a relationship. That was it. Anyway, enough ranting: on with the story!

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><p>Chapter 2: Hoggy Warty Hogwarts<p>

—_September 2, 1991—_

The next day, Hadrian woke up at 8 am, years of conditioning at the Dursleys forcing him awake right on schedule. He got up and began preparing for his day. Looking around, he took in the sight afforded to him by his new room. The bed, a plush four-poster, covered most of the south wall, with a desk standing in the corner. His dorm room's sole light source was a burning torch above the desk. That said desk was facing towards the door was not lost on him. He also noticed that, while it appeared to be normal fire, it did not provide heat as one would. The walls were a dull gray, but held signs of having had things nailed in at various points...although whether that was from previous students wishing to brighten the gloomy dorm, or from when this room was likely a cell, he wasn't sure.

A door off to the side led to a full bathroom, everything made from steel and glass. He went inside and showered before getting dressed. Donning another set of finely crafted robes, he paused before the mirror, taking in his appearance. His hair had been tamed the year before; it turns out it just needed to grow out a bit more to become manageable. His mooncalf leather boots were polished to a shine, and his wand holster was secured on his wrist just beyond being visible, so that he could draw it at a moment's notice.

Satisfied with his current look, he left to go to breakfast, locking the door behind him. Passing through the common room, he noticed the many looks he was receiving from several of the older students; not hostile, really, but more like they were sizing him up. Filing the information away, he continued on to the Great Hall. All five tables were already set and laden with all kinds of breakfast foods. Oddly enough, several professors were already present. He sat down and piled some eggs, bacon, and sausage onto his plate. He was soon joined by Draco and the trolls; Draco began telling him some things about his family history.

"The Malfoy family is responsible for the invention of Floo travel, which forms the majority of the Malfoy fortune. Many of the lighter families believe that our family has gotten rich by cheating others out of money...or dealing in black market good...or other stuff like that. While it's partially true, it's no more true for the Malfoys than it is for any other pureblood family; the more recent generations are probably darker than those prior, which is why most families don't like the Malfoys. My father is a Traditionalist, meaning that he believes in purity of blood."

"Most of the families considered dark are very similar, but the lighter families would have us completely integrate into muggle society. My father says that the Wizarding world can't be guaranteed to survive such a meeting, which is why he opposes it. Most muggleborns show talent, but wish to change our society without trying to explain it to us; they think us barbarians who can't understand logic. The conflict between the supposed 'light side' and the 'dark side' is due to the light side not even attempting to communicate; it's always been that way. We're just trying to preserve our traditions, but we still understand that some traditions shouldn't be maintained just because we've always done them."

Harry was impressed. "I take it you've given this a lot of thought."

"Yeah. Father doesn't even try opening communication with any light side families because they're unwilling to listen. So we just dig in our heels and resist the change because we don't fully understand them and don't want to take the risk."

"Interesting," Harry said, his face an emotionless mask, while inside he was plotting. This new information would be useful to his long-term plans for the Wizarding world; Draco's alliance offer was looking better by the minute, though he still wasn't anywhere near convinced. He and Draco made small talk for almost an hour before most of the house was present. At that point, Professor Snape came by handing out schedules. When he came to Harry, he paused. Harry noticed out of the corner of his eye that Dumbledore was looking this way. Snape, whose face was void of feeling, handed him his schedule and, discreetly, a small note. Thanking the man, he waited a minute before unfolding the note to read it:

_Mr. Potter,_

_As you have been sorted into Slytherin, I expect you to be able to control yourself. Do not disappoint me._

_Professor Snape_

Deciding that he would corner the professor about it later, he refolded the note and pocketed it before looking over his schedule. It appeared that all of his classes (with the exception of Astronomy, which took place at midnight on Wednsday) were scattered throughout the week, repeating every week. Transfiguration, Charms, History of Magic, Herbology, Potions, and Defense Against the Dark Arts. There was also a Flying class scheduled every day for the second week—probably just to teach the basics and see who had talent for Quidditch, which Malfoy had spoken of in great detail that morning after discovering Harry knew nothing of the Wizarding sport. His breakfast finished, he headed off to find the Transfiguration classroom: he didn't know where it was yet, and didn't want to be late.

After navigating a few tricky staircases, and going around a few fake doors, he finally found it twenty minutes before class was scheduled to start. Professor McGonagall was nowhere to be—wait, there she was. The cat perched on her desk had odd markings around her eyes reminiscent of glasses. He could sense the _POWER_ coming off of the cat: it was the same feeling it gave him when the Professor was in her human form. Smiling, he said "Hello Professor. I didn't know where the classroom was and didn't want to be late, so I left breakfast early. How did you beat me here?" he asked, puzzled.

The cat looked shocked, before glaring at him sternly. He continued with a smirk "If I wasn't already sure of it, that stern look would have given you away." With that, he sat down and prepared his stuff for class. Slowly, the other first years filtered in. The bushy haired girl wandered in, nose still in her book, and she absentmindedly sat next to him. Malfoy arrived and, after giving the girl a strange look, sat on Harry's other side. His thugs sat behind them, their fronts still covered in crumbs and the like. Draco kept shooting the girl looks, which she either ignored or just didn't notice. Harry noticed, though, and made himself a mental note to talk to Draco about it later.

Finally, the bell rang; the rowdy red-head still hadn't showed up. When McGonagall didn't even twitch with the bell, Harry assumed she was waiting to catch someone coming in late. Sure enough, Weasley barreled into class not five minutes later, huffing and puffing. Looking around, he sighed in relief before saying "Thank Merlin McGonagall isn't here yet! If she knew I was late—" before he could finish his sentence, the cat on the Professor's desk leaped off and transformed midair into an elderly women. She still had that stern glare on her face.

"Mr. Weasley!" she barked. "Why exactly are you late?"

He turned, cringing as he did. "I-I got l-lost, Professor. I won't be late again! I just lost track of time at breakfast."

"Be that as it may, Mr. Weasley, it will be ten points from Gryffindor for tardiness. You have three older brothers you can go to for help navigating through the castle, so you have no excuse. See that it doesn't happen again," she concluded with an air of finality.

"Yes, Professor," Weasley said dejectedly before finding his seat.

The stony-faced professor turned to her class and, as everyone expected, gave them a good talking to about messing around in her class. "Transfiguration is a uniquely dangerous magic; it allows you to change one thing into another, and the potential for misuse is frightening. I will set some ground rules for you all: you will not try to perform any such spells on living creatures, or turning anything into living creatures, until I have told you otherwise. You will not transfigure anything into food; such things are not permanent and will eventually revert back to their original form. Do not attempt any Transfiguration involving a gas unless I tell you otherwise. Finally, do not attempt any experiments in Transfiguration without my approval and supervision, or that of another Transfiguration Master or Mistress. Understand?" The class responded with a unanimous "Yes, Professor."

With that, she began the lesson; they would be learning basic theory first, then attempting to Transfigure a matchstick into a needle. The first years dutifully took their notes, before beginning their task. Hadrian, having practiced over the summer and having a slight understanding of how this particular magic worked (the secret was visualization) he was finished with minutes, absentmindedly switching his matchstick/needle back and forth while he read ahead in the book. Hermione, the bushy-hair Gryff sitting next to him, saw this and asked him how he was doing it. He told her that the trick to this class would be visualization.

"But that's not in the book..." she said uncertainly.

"Well, no," Harry responded. "It's assumed to be common knowledge. If all it took to change something into something else was to point at it and yell nonsense—" here, he paused to give a meaning full glance at the Weasley boy, who was alternating between shouting the incantation at the top of his lungs and cowering under McGonagall's furious glare for doing so, "—non-magicals would have accomplished it a long time ago." This caused her to giggle, covering her mouth with one hand. Seeing her still skeptical look, he insisted she try it. She acquiesced and, seconds later, a needle sat in front of her.

"Let me see, that will be 5 points to Gryffindor for a successful change, Ms. Granger, and 20 points to Slytherin, Mr. Potter, for being the first to do so and for assisting another student," McGonagall's voice came from behind them, startling them out of their seats.

"Thank you, Professor," Harry said quietly, returning to his book. McGonagall asked the two of them to practice until they could do it with ease. Several minutes later, Harry, Draco, and Hermione had all three mastered the simple Alteration spell and had, with the professor's permission, began changing it into other things as well. Despite this freedom, they were still limited by the spell itself; Transfiguration was a finesse magic, and overpowering such a simple spell trying to change something it wasn't meant to change could result in a small explosion. This particular spell, in fact, considering how many broader use spells there were, only had one practical use in this day and age, and that was to help young magicals learn to touch their core in a way that would be within their ability to control even at such an early age. Once they had mastered it, McGonagall asked if they could try and help the others who weren't doing so well.

Draco dragged Crabbe and Goyle (the only Slytherins who had not yet succeeded in their task) into one corner and appeared to be speaking very carefully to them. The two of them had it figured out several minutes later. Harry decided to help the few Ravenclaws and several Hufflepuffs who hadn't yet gotten it right; they too figured it out quickly enough. Meanwhile, Hermione tried to help the Gryffindors, but had little luck: only a few, such as Longbottom, were willing to listen to her at all, and the rest began making fun of her appearance.

Despite this, she continued trying to help, until Weasley—whose yelling cycle was between shouts—told her rather rudely that her help was unneeded and unwanted. She returned to Harry's table in tears and buried her head in her book once more. Harry saw this entire exchange, and nearly called the ginger on it, but held himself back at the last second—if he went flying off the handle now, he would be punished, while Weasley went free. He needed a way to get at him subtly. He began plotting once more.

Soon enough, the class was over, and Hermione was the first one gone, disappearing in a blur of parchment and bushy hair. Draco still looked pensive regarding the girl, but Harry didn't have time for that right now: he had a boy to intimidate.

"Excuse me, Weasley, right?" he asked, getting the Gryff's attention. In doing so, he got his first good look at the boy: his rust-red hair lay in a disheveled mop on his head, while his face was a sea of freckles. His eyes, a light brown color, shone with naivety and a hint of—was that greed? Like Malfoy's goons, he still had crumbs all over his front and a few left on his face, though he did't seem to care.

"Hey! You're Harry Potter!" the red head cried out. "I want you to know that even though you've been sorted into Slytherin, I still think there's a chance for you to continue down the path of the light."

Harry just stared at the boy, who continued proving his lack of tact. "I can help you there; if you be my friend, I can probably help you deal with all those dirty snakes you have to share a dorm with. What do you say?"

Harry's response shocked the boy "I'm not really interested in being your friend; you have proven yourself to be a tactless buffoon. I only came over here to tell you not to bother Hermione like that again. She was only trying to help you, and you made fun of her for it."

Weasley snorted and said "That little know-it-all shouldn't've stuck her nose in where it didn't belong. We Gryffindors don't need a bloody bookworm Ravenclaw's help to succeed, and you know that's where she should have gone! The house of the nerds only exists to do our busy work; then, in times of danger, we protect them in return. That's how it works. As for you, I tried to help you; one day, you'll regret refusing my hand of friendship, just you wait, Potter!" With that, the angered ginger stalked off. The rest of the Gryffs followed him, glaring at Harry.

The Slytherins waited for how Harry would respond to that. What happened next near terrified them.

Harry didn't do anything but narrow his eyes at the retreating redhead. However, over his shoulder appeared a smile so wide it may have split its owner's face in two, revealing two rows of razor-sharp fangs; a grin that promised pain and torture for those who opposed him. A moment later, the smile was gone, as if it had never been.

—_September 6, 1991—_

As Hogwarts' students and staff began waking, a certain Slytherin firstie was already awake, going over his plan for the day. Cheshire was snoozing on his desk, looking quite innocent; Harry knew better, though. The entire castle knew that Filch's cat wasn't well for some reason, but no one could quite figure out what was wrong—except for Harry.

Anyway, back to planning. Harry reflected on his week: all of his classes were going well so far, except for when Weasley was involved. Professor McGonagall had been impressed with his work in Transfiguration so far and he had avoided any unnecessary interruptions to his schedule in the form of homework. Charms class with Professor Flitwick had been fun so far; the class seemed to be learning about spells that weren't really Transfiguration and couldn't be used conventionally in a combat situation. The tiny professor, who had to sit on a stack of books to see over his desk, had squeaked and toppled while calling role when he had reached Harry's name.

Professor Binns, the ghost who taught History of Magic, was just quoting the entire textbook verbatim from memory. While impressive, it didn't really teach Harry anything he wanted to learn, so he delved into his personal library during the period, learning about History through intelligent observation and commentary, or otherwise doing his homework for another class. The only person who stayed awake besides him was Granger, who was constantly scribbling down what the specter was saying.

Herbology, which was taught by Professor Sprout, a rather dumpy witch, was about the gathering of ingredients and what plants could be prepared in which way; for now, they were focusing on the different types of manure used by the Wizarding world. Very few jobs required a N.E.W.T. in the class, and those that did also required a Mastery and were usually for those already well-versed in the various harvesting methods and uses. Astronomy was just about the same as the muggle version, with the exception that it also discussed how the stars alignments could affect ritual magic, but it did not continue past the O.W.L. level.

Their flying lesson yesterday had gone smoothly: Longbottom had been quite nervous, but Harry had told him that all they had to do was stay calm and everything would be alright; brooms, apparently, could sense intent, and if you weren't calm, the broom would go out of control. With his advice in mind, Neville had done passable at the basic broom exercises and the entire lesson had passed without incident. Watching Weasley crash his own Broom into the castle wall had been amusing, particularly since he'd spent the first severak minutes bragging about how good he was on a broom.

As for Harry himself, of the classes he'd had so far, the only one he felt particularly good at was Transfiguration; the visualization process was similar to how he deliberately changed into the Other Him. Charms was easy in and of itself, not because of some personal talent. Herbology was not his specialty either, but he would do well enough. He hadn't had Potions yet, so he would see how well he did. DADA was really a joke; the teacher was afraid of his own shadow, not to mention his own subject. His turban reeked of garlic, and he seemed strange to Hadrian's _POWER_ senses.

But not all was well. The Slytherins were still acting strangely around him, as if uncertain how to treat him. The Gryffndors were even worse: his being sorted into Slytherin was enough cause for the proud lions to loathe him and accuse him of being the next Dark Lord-rumors that the professors did nothing to stop. What's more, at dinner the night of the second, Dumbledore had announced that the entire student body would be taking their mandatory physical this year, during the first several weeks of school. As the youngest, the first years went first. Today's victims were boys with last names beginning with N-Z, everyone who was left of the first years.

According to Draco, it wasn't so bad; Madame Pomphrey had you do a few simple exercises, gave you a once-over with her wand, and you were clear. Harry's problem was what to say when she found his scars: he couldn't exactly hide them with magic, he didn't know enough to do that yet—or rather, he couldn't hide the scars without hiding himself and that would defeat the purpose. After a few hours of thought on his dilemma, he decided that he would use the simple solution: tell her the truth, or at least part of it, and then call her on her Healer's oath. Satisfied, he prepared for Potions with the Gryffindors.

He decided to skip breakfast, since Weasley had been trying to get his goat all week; one lousy attempt after another, all of them failures. Really, he didn't know why the boy kept trying to bait him, it never worked. He allowed himself a small smile before continuing on to the Potions classroom. As he ascended, he passed several other Slytherins—they were still giving him strange looks—and Gryffindors—who were just outright hostile. He arrived at the classroom and entered. Several students had already arrived, including Malfoy. Harry went to join him, and the two of them talked until everyone else finally arrived. As soon as the bell rang, the door to the adjoining office opened with an ominous creak; out stepped Professor Snape.

He was rather tall which, when added to his dark appearance, made him seem to loom over the diminutive firsties. He had a large nose that almost reminded Harry of some tropical bird—at least, it would have, if the man had looked even remotely tanned: his skin was quite pale, as if he rarely left his dungeon—an apt observation. As he walked—well, stalked would be a better word—through the class room at a sedative pace, he paused every few steps to glower at some hapless Gryff who had caught his attention for a moment. Once he'd reached the front of the classroom, he turned to face them; an emotionless mask. Waving one hand carelessly towards the two doors, they slammed shut; from the classroom door, a book flew into his hands. He opened it, looking it over with a quick glance, then set it on his desk.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making," he began with barely more than a whisper, but they caught every word-like Professor McGonagall, Snape had the gift of keeping a class silent without effort. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death—that is, if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach." At this, every last Slytherin seemed to sit up in their seats, as if wanting to prove they weren't dunderheads. The rest of the class (with the exception of Granger, who had done the same) seemed like they couldn't care less.

"Mr. Potter!" said Snape suddenly. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Harry thought for a moment, then said "The most common combination of those two ingredients is the Draught of Living Death, sir. They have also been found to cause nausea in the drinker if allowed to boil beneath the full moon."

"Both correct. 5 points to Slytherin." He paused for a second before saying "Mr. Finnegan! Where would you go looking for a bezoar?"

The Irish Gryff looked puzzled, and replied "I don't know sir...maybe the ingredients cupboard?"

"Cute," Snape replied with a sneer. "And 5 points from Gryffindor. Perhaps Mr. Weasley knows the answer: Weasley, same question."

Ronald scowled, before muttering "How should I know, you greasy git."A few of the other Gryffs groaned at this.

The Potions master was not amused. "That will be 20 points Weasley; 5 for not knowing the answer and 15 for disrespecting a professor. Perhaps Ms. Granger can tell us. Ms. Granger?" he motioned towards her with a sweep of his hand.

"A bezoar is naturally found in the stomach of a goat. It's actually a hairball and can cure just about any poison. Sir," she added at the end.

"Excellent," he said, a ghost a smile crossing his face for an instant. "I see Gryffindor is not completely hopeless this year. 5 points to Gryffindor Ms. Granger." With that, he began teaching them the basics of potions: how different ingredients were expected to act, why they stirred a potion so many times in a particular fashion, and stuff like that. When the class finally let out, the Gryffindors hurriedly gathered their things and left. The snakes left with a little less rush, but also knew they couldn't be late to Transfiguration—with one exception. Harry approached the professor's desk slowly, and asked "Professor Snape? What was with the note you gave me?"

The man looked at him, his expression blank, before saying "You are not like the rest of my students, Mr. Potter, in that I do not know how to handle you. I have my reasons for acting so distant, and perhaps in time we could develop some sort of professional relationship. For now, it is best for you to stay out of my way if you can—while I am...coming to terms with some things." The professor seemed to be somewhere else for a second before saying "Now, you need to get to class, Mr. Potter. Good day." With that, he was dismissed.

When he arrived at McGonagall's classroom, she handed him a note telling him to report to the Hospital Wing. He sighed, took the note, and left for to go see the nurse. Wandering the corridors, he quickly realized he had no idea where the Hospital Wing was. Fortunately, he met a few ghosts who were kind enough to give him directions. By the time he had arrived, he was already quite late. He muttered a quick apology before requesting a privacy curtain for the duration of the test. She raised an eyebrow, but did as he asked. He went behind the curtain and did everything she asked; some basic exercises, a few flexibility tests, and finally, she asked him to remove his shirt for fitness check.

As he did so, he heard her gasp. His scars from his various beatings had healed the first time he had changed into the Other Him, but anything he did to himself always stayed, for some reason. As such, his arms were covered in scars; several crisscrossing at his wrists, with the rest scattered up and down his bicep. A few dark spots remained all over his torso where tiny sharp things had been pierced through the skin.

"Mr. Potter, what is all of this about?" she asked in a carefully controlled voice.

Harry paused for a moment, as if in thought, then launched into his prepared sob story of how, earlier in his life, whenever he had made strange things happen, his relatives always seemed disappointed in him, and he had been sad when he couldn't stop the strange things from happening. He told her that he had tried to leave life so he wouldn't bother them anymore, but that it hadn't worked. Fortunately, he said, his relatives had discovered his suicide attempts and explained to him that they still loved him despite the strange things, which they had promised would be explained one day. Long story short, she bought it hook line and sinker: she immediately starting trying to comfort him, telling him that it would be okay, before he reminded her that it was long since resolved and he didn't do that stuff anymore. Then he asked her if she would promise not to tell anyone. She smiled and said she would. He thanked her and left.

Had anyone been able to see him while Harry was in the infirmary, Professor Dumbledore would have looked puzzled. He had been sure that the Dursleys would abuse Harry liberally; the wards over Privet Drive had reported almost constant injury since he was about five years old. He didn't think of the fact that most toddlers didn't even understand the concept of death, much less suicide: he was too preoccupied to think of that. Between that and his sorting into Slytherin, which had the added effect of Severus being nice to the boy, his plans were falling to pieces before his eyes. He scowled, before leaving behind the infirmary to continue plotting.

—_October 31, 1991—_

Hadrian Potter was beyond furious: this time, Weasley had gone too far this time. The only thing keeping Harry from introducing Ronald to his Other Him was that he didn't want to reveal that particular ability quite yet. They were just coming out of Charms with the Gryffs (the two houses had too many classes together, in Harry's opinion: it was as if someone was trying to make the house rivalry worse!), where they had been learning the Levitation Charm.

A scene that had been repeating just about every class they had with Gryffindor had started: once again, Draco, Harry, and Hermione finished early and began helping the rest of the class. Once again, Hermione had tried to aid the other first years in her house and been mocked. Once again, Weasley was having great difficulty with the spell and, when Granger had tried to assist him, he had lost his temper. It appeared, however, that this time was the straw that broke the camel's back.

"WHY DON'T YOU JUST BUGGER OFF, YOU BLOODY USELESS, BUCK-TOOTHED BOOKWORM!" the ginger thundered. "CAN'T YOU SEE NOBODY CAN STAND YOU? ARE YOU REALLY THAT STUPID, ARE YOU JUST SO DESPERATE FOR A FRIEND THAT YOU THROW YOURSELF AT THE NEAREST PERSON IN A POINTLESS HOPE FOR PITY? WHY DON'T YOU JUST LEAVE, HUH? NOBODY WANTS YOU HERE! NOW GET OUT!" he finished ranting. The entire class was dead silent, except for Hermione sniffling before running out of the room, crying hard; she didn't even bother packing up or anything.

The next person to speak was Professor Flitwick. "Mr. Weasley!" he said, his effort at containing his rage obvious, "You have been an almost constant disruption in my classroom; every class, it seems, Ms. Granger only ever tries to help you, and you snap at her, belittle her, and insult her simply because it makes you feel better; I am sure several other teachers could say the same. You will report to the Headmaster's office, and he will decide your punishment—besides 50 points from Gryffindor, two weeks detention, and a letter to your parents, of course. Pack your bags and get going. Now, Mr. Weasley," he added when Ronald began getting red, as if about to go off again. Grumbling loudly, he did as instructed. As he left, he shivered, as though someone was walking over his grave. In his hurry to leave, he didn't notice Harry glaring holes into his back.

Later that day, Harry overheard Lavender Brown telling Parvati that Hermione had been crying her eyes out in the second floor girl's loo. Later, just before the Halloween feast, he tried to go talk to her, but she yelled at him to get out. He tried again, but she persisted, so he left in a huff. As he approached the Slytherin table for dinner, Malfoy saw him and dragged him over to one side. "Okay, Potter, I have been keeping this in for a while, but why in Merlin's name are you so interested in Granger?"

Harry seemed to lose focus on the present before saying "I feel some sort of...connection, to her; when I followed my feelings before, I found Cheshire and Hedwig. Beyond that, she probably has a genius level intellect—or at least something close to it—and is fairly powerful magically. I can sense it," he replied to Draco's unspoken retort. "She, like you, would make a good friend and ally. As I see it, when my Gryffindor instincts and Slytherin cunning are agreeing on a course of action, I should just do it and see where it goes. Now let's go eat." With that, they sat down, and began stuffing their faces. Unfortunately for all involved, Weasley apparently hadn't yet reached his 'asshole' quotient for the day. At least he'd given up trying to make nice with Harry.

"Oy, Potter! What's the matter, your girlfriend not show up?" the ignorant Gryff sniggered, as did his hanger-on, Seamus Finnegan. "Or are you sad 'cause your parents died 10 years ago?"

Harry froze, before turning to face Weasley. He looked him in the eye and pushed with his aura. The Slytherins all around Harry shivered, but Ronald had gone stone-stiff. His eyes had gone wide, and the pupils were dilating quickly. "Go away, you insignificant cockroach," Harry said in a voice laden with _POWER_. Ronald stumbled over his feet trying to back up; once he'd regained his footing, he ran back to the Gryffindor table as fast as his legs could carry him.

Harry turned back to his meal and began eating once more, although now he looked rather sad, instead of angry. The students around them stared awkwardly at Harry, who resolutely ignored them and continued eating. A few professors were giving him alarmed looks, but those, too, were ignored. Just as dessert was about to arrive, Professor Quirrell burst through the doors, screaming "TROLL! TROLL IN THE DUNGEONS!" Stopping to catch his breath, he said dazedly "Thought you ought to know," before keeling over, fainting dead away.

The hysteria set in quickly, only ceasing after Professor Dumbledore let loose several blasts of thunder from his wand. Gazing out at the student body he said "Prefects! Escort your houses to your common room! Professors, come with me to the dungeons!" With that, he left from the hall in a hurry, as did the rest of the teachers. Once again, Dumbledore had managed to worsen Harry's opinion of him. He was flabbergasted when the Slytherin prefects began trying to herd the others back to the common room.

"What are you all doing?" he asked incredulously.

The prefects looked at him strangely. "We're bringing you all back to the common room."

"Which is where?" Harry asked slowly.

The prefect in question looked annoyed. "You know where it is: it's in the...dungeons." His annoyance replaced by a contrite look, he motioned for everyone to sit down. Harry stood and made his way out of the Hall. The prefect called out "Where do you think you're going, Potter?"

"The loo," Harry shouted over his shoulder, disappearing from the Great Hall a split second later. He had decided to at least warn Hermione of the troll's presence in the castle, so he head off for the girl's lavatory. As he reached the top of the stairs, he heard a shrill scream echo off the walls. A pungent smell in the air, like a mixture of sweaty socks and sour milk, invaded his nose, indicating that the troll was most definitely not in the dungeons. He rushed over to the restroom and pulled open the door to see the mess that it had become.

Hermione was standing against the far wall, frozen in terror as the troll advanced. Several sinks had been smashed to pieces already, as well as several stalls. The floor was slick with water, not that the troll seemed to notice; its entire attention span was on the girl in front of it. He took out his wand and, with great concentration, cast Wingardium Leviosa on the troll's club.

What he had not accounted for was that, despite having mastered the ability over the summer to the point where he could lift his bed, the club weighed easily twice as much as he did, and the troll was gripping it with two hands. Needless to say, he wasn't quite sure why he had thought the spell would have any effect at all, other than to catch the troll's attention for a second before it returned the quivering prey in front of it. As it raised its club above its head, Harry did something quite stupid: with his years of running from gangs coming to his aid, he ran past the troll, using various pieces of rubble as stepping stones, all the way over to the frozen girl and pushed her out of the way just as the club came down on his head.

The POWER filling his body once more, he stood up. He was now almost as tall as the troll was. This change was different though. Looking down, he saw that his wand had changed, too: it was now a dagger that seemed to absorb the light around it. Observing it, he decided that, while the design was fairly simple, it would work for the purposes. The troll was looking at him warily, as if sizing him up, before it pushed past his passive aura and charged. Just as with Weasley, he focused his aura on the troll. It stopped in its tracks, club raised above its head, a look of sheer terror on its face. Harry raised the dark dagger and stabbed it straight through its eye with as much force as he could muster.

The troll's noggin split like a ripe banana; what's more, the wound seemed to be spreading, melting the creature's face off...and then the muscles underneath...and then the bones. Finally, the only thing left was a rapidly dissolving brain. The troll had long since keeled over, dead as a doornail. He stared at his new dagger in fascination before a scream brought him back to his senses.

Hermione was standing in a pool of water and troll blood, her robes soaked by the spraying water coming from the busted sink. She looked up at Harry; as she reached his eyes, she lost consciousness—whether because of his aura, or the situation, he didn't know. He picked her up easily and shifted through the shadows back to the nearby Transfiguration classroom. He transformed back before Rennervating her. He shifted away before she'd completely come to, but he could have sworn the echo of "Harry?" had reached his ears first.

The student body wasn't quite sure what had happened, but after Halloween, Hermione Granger had begun sitting at the Slytherin table with Hadrian Potter; the Slytherins had seemed shocked at first, but allowed it (barely tolerated it, in a few cases). Their relationship was unclear: Hermione looked like a little puppy trailing behind Harry after classes—they had just about every class together, oddly enough—and would never stand for anyone talking bad about him. Ronald Weasley served as a prime example when he was found hanging upside down from the Astronomy tower the day after trying to spread a nasty rumor about Harry—though no one could prove it was her…not legally, anyway. She sat with him in the library and they studied together, and they worked together in almost every class, and so on and so forth. It looked as if the two of them were attached at the hip, but no one knew why.

Except for Hermione Granger. She knew. She knew the professors had found the troll dead in one of the bathrooms, and that Dumbledore had been credited with its defeat, but she knew better. She had heard the troll enter the loo around dinnertime. She had seen it demolish the entire bathroom in a matter of thirty seconds. She had seen it raise its club to smash her into oblivion, only to be pushed aside by the Boy-Who-Lived. She had watched as he was crushed flat, only to rise up as some terrible monster took his place; a monster that radiated fear and power; a monster that killed the troll with a single strike of its terrible weapon; a monster that had apparently carried her to safety. When she had come to several minutes later, she had caught a single glimpse of the strange Slytherin before he literally disappeared into the shadows.

She had found him and talked to him the next day, to thank him for saving her life. She told him that, if he was willing, she would be his friend and ally; it was the least she could do, in her opinion. He had accepted, and she had been tailing him ever since, whenever she was able.

As she had made her promise, she had felt a slight tug on her magic that was reminiscent of the one she had felt when she had first seen Hadrian Potter: it made her feel good all over, comforted, safe. It also felt powerful and dangerous, but protective; it was a feeling she long associated with close family. But she couldn't possibly be in love with Harry Potter...right?

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><p>A.N.: Alright, don't forget to review, people. I'm think this chapter uses a few ideas from other authors here on fanfiction (the only one I know of for sure is the Malfoys owning the Floo), but for the life of me I can never remember where I read it. If you know, please tell me so I can give credit where credit is due.<p> 


	4. Blood (Purity) Splattered Everywhere

A.N.: This new chapter should whet your appetites in preparation for Hadrian's second semester. As always, I do not own Harry Potter or the world Mrs. Rowling allows us fans to twist for our own amusement: if I did own it, I would have continued the series to include travel to other dimensions and quests of a generally epic nature. Read and review! All I want is your opinion, and people usually give those out like candy on Halloween!

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><p>Chapter 3: Blood (Purity) Splattered Everywhere<p>

—_November 20, 1991—_

Hadrian Potter was quite content with Hogwarts so far: he had made a few friends, his classes were going well, and the Slytherins were surprisingly accepting of his new friendship with Hermione (once he had explained it to them the same way he had to Draco). He had discovered that magic based on either intent or mathematical formula—such as Transfiguration, Potions, and Arithmancy—came easily to him, and everything else came with only slightly more effort. The professors were all pleasant, for the most part, or at least tolerable, and the food was always of a superior quality to anything he had consumed in muggle elementary. Unfortunately, experience had taught him that when life is going marvelously, fate takes the opportunity to kick you between the legs just as your guard drops, so he stayed vigilant.

Hermione was a great friend: she was someone he could bounce ideas off, whether muggle or magical, and always had something on her mind. Draco helped keep him grounded, either with the occasional joke, or by forcing him out of the library for a game of Exploding Snap_—_Harry always won, despite Draco having played for years_—_or any number of muggle card games that Draco had discovered and insisted on learning. Sometime around the end of the second week of November, winter had arrived and the students had awoken to find the entire grounds blanketed in untouched snow. Several snowball fights had taken placed, mostly among the Gryffs, and it was rare for anyone to go outside unless they had to.

It had been just yesterday that Slytherin had thrashed Hufflepuff 310 to 20 in their second Quidditch match of the year. Draco had tried to get Harry involved in the Wizarding sport, saying that he probably would do well (his father was a legend at Hogwarts for his flying skills both on and off the pitch), but Harry had noticed the alarming number of injuries that came along with the position: he personally had a seeker build, according to Draco, and they seemed to be both the most important player to the outcome (seeing as the snitch was 150 points) and the ones most often hurt during play. What's more, he had plans to make many friends and allies from the other houses, and didn't want to jeopardize such plans by being part of anything as competitive as Quidditch.

Right now, Harry was in Charms class with the Ravenclaws; they were learning basic cleaning charms today, and would be moving on to basic locomotion spells after the winter holidays had passed. As their last class of the day finished, Harry moved away from the crowd and, after casting a quick warming charm, set out onto the grounds to meet with Hagrid. Hermione had befriended the half-giant while reading near the lake one day, and had dragged Harry along with her on a visit one day. As it turned out, the Groundskeeper was amusing to talk to and always had a story about some creature he'd taken care of in the forest. He also had many stories about Harry's parents (apparently, his dad and his dad's friends had made a habit of invading the Forbidden forest every once in a while). Harry had spent many hours just talking to the large man as he shared stories of events long since passed.

Arriving at the man's hut just off the forest edge, he entered to find Hermione already deep in conversation with Hagrid, while continuously refusing to try and eat any more of the man's cooking-his rock cakes had to be made with actual rocks, Harry thought-and asking questions about the various creatures that populated the Forbidden Forest.

"So yeh see," he was saying, "Th' centaurs tend ter keep ter th'mselves mostly, avoiding the other large predators like wolves and th' like...well, except when hunting. The herds abou' fifty strong with an even split between male an' female, an' has been abou' that same size since I arrived a' Hogwarts. They're a bunch o' ruddy star gazers, ter tell the truth; can' get a straight answer out of 'em ter save yer life. If they come ter respect yeh though, like they do me, then the forest is a lot safer no matter who yeh are."

"What do they see in the stars?" Hermione asked, her entire attention on Hagrid.

"I imagine that they see large changes in the balance of things," Hadrian said, drawing their attention. "War and corruption as of late, from the looks of things."

"Yeah," Hagrid replied. "Lately they been goin' on abou' how Mars has been gettin' brighter. Sign o' war, they've said. Then you've got a few wolf packs in the forest, each one as tall as m' waist and hair sticking up like spines. Worgs, their called; nasty things. Can bite a man in half if they feel like. Swallow kids whole, too; those things are one o' th' main reasons you lot are forbidden, 'though you only find 'em in the deeper parts o' th' forest." While he lectured on the worgs abilities, the headline for an old Daily Prophet lying on the table caught Harry's eye. He quickly cast a Copying Charm while Hagrid wasn't looking and pocketed it.

They continued talking about the various beasts for an hour or so, before Hagrid noticed how late it was getting. He shooed them off before preparing a meal, smoke rising from his chimney. Harry and Hermione walked up to the castle continuing the discussion before going off to their separate common rooms.

—_Hermione POV—_

Entering the Gryffindor common room, Hermione immediately noticed the many glares coming her way. As she crossed the room, Weasley came up to her and angrily demanded "Why are you hanging out with that fucking snake? We not good enough for you?"

"Nope." She continued walking up to her dorm, but was blocked by a few of the upper years. "How can you side with him?" she asked incredulously. "He has single handedly lost 895 points for Gryffindor already this year!"

"There are more important things than house points," a fifth year said. "Like house pride. Or when a Gryffindor hangs out with a Slytherin."

"I'm not hanging out with a Slytherin: I'm hanging out with Harry Potter, the only person who's been nice to me since I got here—more so than my housemates, that's for sure. Do you know how I spent Halloween? Crying in the girl's loo because of that flame-haired idiot you're defending! He has belittled, insulted me, and the worst part is, without my help, he would be failing every last one of his classes."

"He may have acted a little hastily, but that's just a Gryffindor thing; we'll talk to him about that. You just need to stop being friends with a Slytherin. It's for your own good; he's just using you for your brains—"

"He's been teaching me more than I've taught him," she interrupted.

The fifth year waved this off. "Just Dark Arts stuff. Illegal, no doubt. He's corrupting you, and we just want to help. Let us help you."

Hermione was silent for a minute, which the lions took as a sign of victory. When she finally spoke, however, this assumption was obviously dead wrong.

"I am not a pureblood, or even anything close. Everyone here knows that much." Her voice started her speech near a whisper, but steadily rose in volume. "And yet, not one single Slytherin has given me any grief ever since I began this friendship with Harry Potter. I even got to talk with a few on a semi-regular basis, and they turned out to be decent people. Every Gryffindor here prefers to charge in, even if they know they will lose, just to avoid looking like cowards. Here's a question: have any of you ever tried talking out your problems?" Silence greeted this.

"Have any of you tried a non-violent solution? Even once? Of course not, you're Gryffindors. There can be no compromise, no negotiation. Someone is either with you, or they're wrong, isn't that right? A Gryffindor is never wrong, are they? Never make a mistake, an error, a single slip-up. Not the perfect Gryffindors. Even when they get their butts handed to them on a silver platter for picking a fight, they were still justified because you just know that the other guy was about to curse you and, besides, he probably cheated to win, right?"

"Maybe we are right usually, and bravery is the most important thing. But Gryffindor is also the house of chivalry, as I recall. The house of gentlemen and ladies. A gentleman doesn't throw the first punch, no matter the circumstances. A true lady won't vilify someone without getting to know them first. I'm looking around right now, and I see a whole bunch of people who have no loyalty, no intelligence, no cunning, and no chivalry but had plenty of courage and got lumped together here in the lion's den because of it. If you really want to prove that Gryffindor is the best house of the four, show people that you can be true ladies and gentlemen; give peace a chance before firing a curse. You'd be amazed how much a kind word can accomplish that a spell can't."

With that, she began going to her dorm once more; no one stopped her this time. She paused at the top and said "Also, you talk about bravery as a virtue, but it would appear that not even one of you has had the stones to try to talk to Harry. Were you afraid of him because he was sorted into Slytherin, or were you all just sulking because he wasn't sorted into Gryffindor?" Before an answer could come, she disappeared around the curve of the staircase, leaving an awkward silence in her wake.

—_Harry POV—_

As Hadrian walked through the halls, he pulled out the newspaper and scanned through the article that had caught his attention.

BREAK-IN AT GRINGOTTS TURNS UP FRUITLESS!

THIEF ESCAPES TO STEAL AGAIN!

From what the article said, someone had broken into Gringotts Bank on his birthday and had tried to steal something from a vault that had been emptied the same day. Something in the back of his mind told him that this was important, but he wasn't sure why. He decided to ask Professor Snape about it later; perhaps he could explain the feeling he had.

As he was pondering, someone tapped him on the shoulder, startling him out of his reverie. He whirled around, his wand drawn, to find a pair of ginger twins grinning like Cheshire after a good hunt.

"Greetings, Hadrian Potter," said the left one grandly. "My name is Fred—"

"Wait, I thought my name was Fred," said the one on the right. His clone looked confused for a second before he turned back to Harry. "Anyway, we are Fred and George Weasley—"

"—Gred and Forge, if you prefer," added the other.

"Third year Gryffindor Beaters—"

"—top-notch pranksters—"

"—and the official top two sexiest wizards on campus." finished the one on the right.

"Is that so?" Harry asked, amused by the twin-speak.

"It is, indeed, O scarred snake," the left one answered proudly. "As we said before, we are pranksters here at Hogwarts."

"What most people don't know is that we are not the first jokers to attend—"

"—and you could say that the ones who were are the secret to our success. While they were at school—"

"—four friends, Messrs.' Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs, constructed a map of the school—"

"—which showed you, not only every last corridor, classroom, and secret passage—"

"—but also the name of everyone in Hogwarts and their location."

Harry was confused. "Why are you telling me all of this?"

The right one smirked. "The map has never lied before—"

"—and about an hour ago, as we were looking for new victims, we spotted something...off about you name."

"It was flashing between two names: Hadrian James Potter—"

"—and, oddly enough, Prongslett," the other finished.

"Some," his twin continued "Might ignore such an insignificant detail, but we believe you to be the rightful heir of Prongs and, as such, the map should be yours."

"But don't you need it?" Harry asked curiously.

The left ginger waved this off. "We've memorized the secret passages already... although we might want to borrow it every once in a while." He pulled out a blank piece of parchment and poked it with his wand while saying "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good." Once he'd finished, ink began to appear as if being poured onto the parchment; lines and shapes forming until the entire of Hogwarts was shown in great detail. At the top, words appeared: "Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs, purveyors of aids to magical mischief-makers are proud to present the Marauders Map." "Once you're done, just say 'Mischief Managed', and the map will be wiped clean."

Taking the map, he perused it; he saw Dumbledore pacing in his office; he saw Hagrid tending to some unicorn foals; he saw that Mrs. Norris was pacing the fourth floor, with Filch following a good twenty meters behind; he saw Quirrell and—well, that was interesting. He looked up at the twins, who grins should have been too wide to fit on their faces, and asked "Why are you helping me?"

"Well, the map really is yours," the right one said, "And we don't need it much anymore, anyway, so we're giving it to you."

"Also, our brother's been kind of a git lately—"

"Kind of?" Harry asked sarcastically.

"Compared to his normal level of idiocy, yes," Twin Number One answered without missing a beat. "Also, perhaps this could be the beginning of a friendship, or at least a business deal."

Harry smirked. "Of course, you do realize the downside to giving me the map, right?"

"Downside?" the left twin asked, perplexed. "What downside?"

"Oh, well, I've already spotted the slight difference in your freckle patterns, but I still don't know which of you is which—or at least, I didn't. But I do now. See you later, Fred," he pointed to the left one, "You too, George," he said as he pointed to the other. The twins were shocked for a second before bursting out laughing. They saluted and said as one "See you later, Prongslett!" Thus ended the strangest conversation Harry had held since entering the magical world.

He opened the map once more and stared at the little dot next to his DADA Professor. He hadn't heard of Tom Riddle before; perhaps he was a less renowned student? He decided to look into it later and whispered 'Mischief Managed' before pocketing the now blank parchment. He continued his journey to the common room, where he found Draco coming out of the common room, flanked, as always, by the two magical apes.

"Hello, Harry. I figured you had come back here and wanted to talk to you about...recent events. Care to walk with me?" he asked.

Harry nodded. They began the long trek through the dungeons to the Great Hall, as Draco told Harry his latest theory: the blond had received instructions from his father to convince Harry to join the pureblood cause. Hadrian had told him that it was a matter of convincing him that magical blood mixing with magical blood is superior to mixing with non-magical blood or even first-generation blood. Malfoy had been putting forth arguments for a few days now; each one had been calmly and methodically countered.

"Okay, so we agree that power, after doing the right thing, is most important." A nod. "Good. And that magical power is very significant?" Another nod. "Alright, then: each pureblood family has a magical affinity or ability unique to their family. This makes purebloods superior to muggleborns, who couldn't possibly have such a skill."

"Alright," Harry replied. "It's fairly well-known that my mother was a Charms and Potions Mistress by the time she left Hogwarts. Hermione is almost as good as I am at Transfiguration—and even better in Charms—while Sally-Anne Perks is as good at Herbology as any pureblood Hufflepuff. How do you explain that?"

"Everyone has their specialty," Draco replied. "But I see your point; they shouldn't be as good as a specialist." He was quiet for a minute. "Well, the muggleborns still don't have the unique abilities of any pureblood family; things like…okay, the Blacks having various Transfiguration-based talents, the Ollivanders having precognitive powers, and the Fast Healing ability the Potters possess. No other family can have those powers unless they marry into the family, and even then, only their children might have it."

Harry replied "Since the pureblood families have been mixing exclusively with each other for a few millennia, every pureblood probably has some blood in them from each of the houses and can therefore show signs of just about any talent. Furthermore, the infamous Jack the Ripper is known to the Wizarding community to have been magical, but he was a muggleborn. He had a power that allowed him to convince even the most distrusting of women to come with him; a level of magical charisma only the Malfoy family has ever possessed among the English."

Draco snorted, before saying "It was proven by the Wizengamot that he was descended from a squib cast out of the Malfoy family."

Harry smiled. "So the Wizengamot has proven that there is no such thing as a muggleborn, since they're just the end result of a long line of squibs, correct?" Draco was speechless for a minute; by that time they had arrived at dinner. Harry steered him towards a seat before piling his own plate high with food.

As he began eating his meal, Draco sputtered "But that can't be right! If that was true, then there's no difference between us and them. They—", at this point, he realized his audience and quieted down. "If that's true, and all muggleborns are descended from purebloods...well, such a revelation would cause quite a stir in the Wizarding community. So long as you could convince the masses, many more bigoted laws would end up being repealed; it could potentially change every aspect of our culture." He looked deathly pale at this thought. "How come no one has ever seen that correlation before?"

"Perhaps they did and immediately rejected it because it doesn't make sense. Regardless of whether he was or wasn't descended from a Malfoy, it still shows that muggleborns can have otherwise family-specific powers. So that argument is also a load of tosh."

Malfoy thought for a second, then said "Purebloods consistently score higher on the theoretical magicks, such as History of Magic and Potions."

"That's because they grew up with magic, whereas muggleborns did not. Also, I've seen that same statistic; interesting that the Daily Prophet only compared the results for the first three years, and even then, only regarding theory. It turns out that muggleborns are consistently better at practical unless compared to a specialist, and their ability in theory grows exponentially, while the purebloods have a more constant, linear rate of growth. There are many exceptions, but the averages of muggleborns are higher than just about any pureblood family: the only ones who break even with first-generations are those families who have a number of muggle or muggleborn relatives...such as the Potters." Harry, finished with this argument, returned to his food. Hermione joined them, though Draco hardly noticed.

The blond thought for few minutes before continuing. With a defeated air, he said "I've put forth 23 different arguments over the past week arguing for the superiority of purebloods. I only have one argument left, but it should do the trick." Straightening, he began speaking, unaware that their conversation had attracted so much attention. "Muggleborns, when they enter the Wizarding world, see some of our traditions and overreact, trying to change something that has been in place for countless generations. These things are in place for good reasons—"

"Which are?" Harry interrupted casually.

Draco opened his mouth, then closed it while sporting a confused look. Finally, he said "Well...there's so many...give me an example and I'll tell you."

"House elves," Hermione responded, joining the conversation with a curious glance at her friend.

"House elves like to work; wizards just give them the opportunity to do so. It can cause the elf to become physically ill if they can't work for us. I've seen it happen, it's horrible. A lot of purebloods punish their elves for misbehaving. If they didn't punish them, they would think they could do whatever they want."

Harry pulled out his creature book and thumbed through to the section on house elves. "Actually, several centuries ago, the elves fought alongside the goblins in their latest so-called rebellion. When their side lost, the elves were forced into bondage by the wizard leaders as punishment. They and their descendants are bound magically to serve wizards; if they don't, the curse placed on them will slowly drain their magic before killing them. As for punishments, they can't disobey orders, their magic won't allow it. How about marriage contracts?"

"That's to make sure that purebloods only marry purebloods," Draco responded.

"Which I've already proved to you is not necessarily a desirable result," said Harry. "Most of the traditions of the magical world exist to support the false belief that purebloods are inherently superior to all other magic users, because they're afraid of someone else being their equal." Draco was silent again, deep in thought. Harry continued. "During the first war, it's a reported fact that, even in the all-out battles, Voldemort—" he ignored the flinches around him "—had around 100 wizards helping him. There are roughly 50 million people in the UK alone, both magical and non. Of those, only about 1 in a 4000 is magical. That means that there's somewhere around 12000 witches and wizards in the UK. Of those, about 100 followed Voldemort."

"It's been proven that even the strongest shield will fall quickly if being hammered by a high number of different opponents simultaneously' personal power is no longer a factor. If the people of the Wizarding world had stood up to Voldemort—" ignoring another series of flinches "—his so-called 'reign of terror' wouldn't have lasted a week. A bounty on his head would've ensured that people who could really fight worth anything would go after him, and he would have died much more easily." Malfoy looked shocked at this. Harry finished his meal and began discussing their Charms assignments with Hermione. After a while of this, she asked if she could borrow his creature book. He considered it for just a moment, and then handed it to her. She put it away in her book bag and continued deducing the possibilities of wider area cleaning charms.

Draco sat silent for a while, thinking on their ongoing argument and the interesting thoughts it had provoked.

—_December 18—_

Hadrian Potter was not in the best mood. The common room was now bright Gryffindor red all over, courtesy of the Weasley twins, and both of his best friends were leaving the castle. It was a mere week until Christmas (or several days until the winter solstice, if you were pureblood) and the castle was quickly emptying. Students wanting to see their families were heading for Hogsmeade to take the Hogwarts express back to London. Classes were suspended until the end of the break, and Hadrian could explore to his heart's content. Draco had been apologetic: his father had floo-called at the last minute and told him of a pureblood gathering that aimed to get their children used to each other before their families began selling them off.

Harry was worried, both for his friend, and himself. For the last month, he had been slowly helping Draco work his way around the idea that muggleborns were just as good as purebloods. With every argument, the blond's resolve lessened, until finally he admitted it was all a load of bull. To have to go home and pretend to socialize, knowing the adults would be discussing who should be his wife when he grew up would be a test of his patience—not to mention that the senior Malfoy would want a progress report on Harry's "turning" to the dark side. He mentally snorted, then returned to his train of thought. He had been worrying about it for a while now, but figured that Draco could handle it fairly well if it came up.

Hermione was a different issue. She wasn't talking to him as much, and seemed to be struggling with something when she did. His worries increased when she began avoiding him. He wanted to say the Gryffindors were to blame, but they had started being much friendlier towards him as of late: accepting his help in class, talking to him in the hallways, and generally being less cold. Well, except for Weasley, but then, Harry wasn't expecting him to change his ways any time soon. Hermione was just the opposite: she avoided him at halls, during meals, even during classes—working with Weasley of all people. The ginger had gloated about it for a while before his brothers taught him some humility. She seemed to be getting a bit sick, too, but he wasn't sure what could be done about that. She had quietly bid him goodbye before leaving for Hogsmeade.

Right now, he was wandering the halls aimlessly. The school seemed so empty now. After a long while, he found himself staring at the Map, looking for something to distract him. Professor Quirrell was talking with Tom Riddle again...he'd get around to meeting him soon enough. It looked like Professor McGonagall was patrolling the halls again—wait a minute, Professor Quirrell was pacing outside the forbidden corridor. Deciding that this was interesting enough, Harry put away the map and shadow-traveled to the room the DADA professor was just outside of. He came face to face with three sets of giant yellow eyes, all looking at him.

A gargantuan beast straight out of mythology, a Cerberus, stood in front of him. Twenty feet tall at the shoulder, its pitch black fur contrasted with its golden yellow eyes, making them like lamps in the dark room. The middle head was staring at him suspiciously, while the other heads seemed slightly less inclined to eat him. Harry stood very still, not sure how he would fare against such a creature. Very few people, even in the ancient stories, ever made it past the first Cerberus; Hercules just wrestled with it, while Orpheus used his epic musical talents to cause it to fall asleep. Neither option would work for Hadrian: even the Other Him wouldn't last five seconds in a melee fight with the beast, and he couldn't use music (only Orpheus was that good and, besides, Quirrell was still pacing outside the door). It was likely to be immune to the limited magic he already knew, and a great deal of magic he didn't know.

As he was thinking through his limited options, the most amazing thing happened: the beast sort of shuffled back, revealing a trapdoor from under its paw. It stared at Harry expectantly. He eased forward, unsure of its intent. When he had reached the door and it still hadn't moved again, he opened it and jumped down. Reaching the bottom, he frowned. He had been trying to shadow travel down, but something had stopped it. He decided it was probably the Cerberus, and began taking note of his surroundings.

As luck would have it, the soft thing that had broken his fall was a particularly nasty plant known as Devil's Snare. It latched into its victims and began squeezing until they were dead. Fortunately, it couldn't handle using other plants for food and would release anything not putting up a fight. He began slowly working his way through his meditation process, allowing his whole body to relax. After several minutes of this, he landed on his butt. Looking around, it appeared that the Devil's Snare had dropped him in a room connected to the chamber by a small, cramped corridor. If the mold on the walls were anything to judge, he was probably about as deep down as the common room, maybe even deeper...beneath the lake, perhaps?

He continued along the corridor, coming across a room that went at least two dozen meters in every direction, completely filled with tiny birds...no, not birds, keys! One of them probably opened the door on the other side of the chamber. He noticed a few magical brooms over in one corner, but decided to use it as a last resort; there had to be a thousand keys up there, he didn't have a chance in hell of finding the right one before curfew. He began examining the door, in awe of the rune structures around the frame and engraved in the door itself. The only way through it would be with the key—even his shadow travel would have been blocked if the Cerberus wasn't already doing so. Then the answer came to him: he aimed his wand at the wall next to the door and cast the Reductor curse at it. It turned a small section of the wall to dust, maybe half a square meter and about a full meter above the ground, just above his head.

He frowned, unsure how to proceed, until he remembered the broom. He went and got it from the corner; this turned out to be a mistake. The thousands of keys above his head began going into a frenzy before beginning to bomb him. Hurriedly, he positioned the broom and flew through the hole in the wall, the keys still chasing him. He flew over a huge chessboard with life-sized pieces (the queen tried to slice him with her sword) before jetting through the open archway behind them. His luck had not changed for the better; the room he had entered had a troll even larger than the one from Halloween inside: its head, a good four meters off the ground and completely covered in thick, unkempt, mud-colored hair, nearly scraped the ceiling. Harry swerved on the broom, just barely avoiding being turned into a pancake. Now he was starting to worry: he was still tired from using the powerful Reducto not thirty seconds before and didn't have the energy to transform yet. As the troll began to charge, he flew back into the chessboard room.

It was absolute chaos: the chess pieces had already given up the charade of decorum and were just attacking each other and the keys were attacking everything in sight. The troll came barreling in and began smashing everything it could reach: the black queen and the three white pawns it had been dueling with were shattered into pieces with its first blow. It then became preoccupied with swatting at the growing swarm of magical keys flying around its head, poking it in every place possible.

Harry, upon witnessing this scene, could hardly believe his luck. His Gryffindor instincts had told him to come see what was down here, and by sheer chance had seen him through virtually unscathed. Not one of the three—well, four—forces were attacking him at the moment. Taking a good opportunity when he saw it, he snuck out of the battlefield and ran through the troll's room to get out of malodorous cloud that filled it. Another corridor greeted him on the far side of the chamber, which he gladly entered. Traveling through the hall, he came to another archway. As soon as he crossed it, purple flames engulfed it. Black flames appeared over the door on the other side, sealing him in. In the middle of the room was a small table with several misshapen bottles on it, all filled with a light brown liquid. A piece of parchment lay on the table:

_Danger lies before you, while safety lies behind,_

_Two of us will help you, whichever you would find,_

_One among us seven will let you move ahead,_

_Another will transport the drinker back instead,_

_Two among our number hold only nettled wine,_

_Three of us are killers, waiting hidden in line._

_Choose, unless you wish to stay here forevermore,_

_To help you in your choice, we'll give you these clues four:_

_First, however slyly the poison tries to hide_

_You will always find some on nettle wine's left side;_

_Second, different are those who stand at either end,_

_But if you would move onward, neither is your friend;_

_Third, as you see clearly, all are different size,_

_Neither dwarf nor giant holds death on their insides;_

_Four, the second left and the second on the right_

_Are twins once you taste them, though different at first sight._

Harry grinned; he loved logic puzzles. "Let's see," he thought. "The second on the left if obviously the smallest, while the middle one is clearly the largest. That gives me something, at least." After a few minutes spent glancing between the bottles and the parchment he grinned and made his selection. Draining the goblet, he walked calmly through the black fire, completely unharmed. The final room appeared to be a dueling ring of some sort. There was a magnificent chest in the middle of the room. It was almost as tall as he was and was covered in metal: iron made up the sides of the hulking thing, bound together with steel bands as wide as his arm and thicker than his fingers. It was wrapped in solid steel chains crisscrossing over the surface. At every intersection of chains, there was a wrought iron lock like something expected for a prison cell—for a particularly violent werewolf.

Harry knew that the chamber had to be affecting his magic; it was becoming difficult to do even the simplest tasks. Between that and the fact the box was made entirely out of metal would make blowing it apart difficult even for the most powerful of wizards; metals were usually quite difficult to affect without particularly powerful destructive magic. Concentrating hard, Harry scanned the room for magical auras to try and mess with the wards: it was likely that the chest was trapped and monitored and would go off even touched. If he could confuse the wards around the room, he could have a little more power to work with and could avoid any more unwelcome interruptions. He still didn't know what was down here, but with all the security he had made his way through, he wasn't going to leave empty-handed unless forced—that, and what ever made such protections necessary was surely worth all this trouble.

Analyzing the wards in the room, he was befuddled for a moment. The ward structures weren't like the ones in his book at all; they were far more complex, but still had the same basic structures. He thought on it for a few minutes before realizing the problem: he was assuming the wards were centered around the box. With this in mind, he scanned the room once more (he was quite tired by now) and saw the anomaly in the ward system: that wasn't a protection ward; that was a massive illusion ward affecting all of the senses. He followed it to its source; once there, he began blindly lashing out at the place he presumed housed the ward stone for the illusion: wherever it was hiding was the true treasure. Sure enough, a giant stone pedestal appeared out of nowhere, one of the dozens of etched runes covering its surface showing signs of damage. There, on the pedestal, was a ruby-red stone about the size of his fist. Luckily, none of the wards were monitoring the stone or the pedestal—it would have revealed the illusion to have detection wards around nothing but air—so he plucked it from its resting spot and began meticulously repairing the damaged rune.

After several minutes' meticulous concentration, he finally finished the single rune carving, restoring the glamour and removing the pedestal from his perception. He walked back into the potion room-the potion apparently still in effect—to find the black flame bottle full once more. He took a swig from the purple flame potion and began to leave, then paused. Grinning, he poured a small amount from one of the poison bottles into each of others, until all four liquids were thoroughly mixed. Satisfied, he made his way through the purple flames. He picked up the broom he had left in the troll room and continued on to the chess room.

The first thing he noticed was the stench: the troll laid dead, its eye sockets leaking blood past the keys filling them to capacity, which were twitching feebly. The floor was covered with more winged keys, most with some piece of metal missing or a wing broken. The chessboards right side was covered in dark red troll blood, where more keys lay drenched in the foul liquid. Looming over it all in an ominous manner were the chess pieces, both sides fully intact and still as stone—they probably repaired themselves after each game. As he approached, the pieces parted, allowing him to leave the room unopposed.

He flew through the hole and noticed a single tarnished silver key still fluttering away, having not chased him to its death. He noticed ruefully that the tarnished silver of the key matched that of the lock exactly. He continued on, using the broom to bypass the carnivorous plant and to make his way up the shoot leading to the Cerberus. As he exited the chute, he was met by a low rumble that turned out to be three dog heads growling in unison. Six yellow eyes stared him down, daring him to try and pass.

Then he remembered that, in Greek Mythology, Cerberus kept the living out, but the dead weren't allowed to leave. Why it was doing so in reverse for him was strange—no, it had to be the Other Him, there was no other explanation. Harry was, by this point, dead tired, hungry, and completely out of patience. His aura seemed to fill the room for a second as he hissed "MOVE." Three gigantic heads cocked to the left, as if contemplating his order. It leaned towards him with all three heads, each opening their mouth wide.

Then he found himself being licked by three tongues head to toe. Now that he was thoroughly covered in dog saliva, he was allowed to pass, only to be confronted by the Defense Professor, who shouted "Potter! What were you doing in there?"

He just stared at the man, still dripping with saliva, before saying "Learning."

The turbaned man's eyes narrowed. "And just what were you learning?"

"To never take a dare from a Slytherin, sir. That thing could have swallowed me whole. Luckily, it's a lot more playful than violent, and decided to satisfy itself with three licks of me before I came to my senses and ran," Harry said with a straight face, looking at his shoes in false shame.

"Yes, well," the man began. "You would do well to stay away from that dog, Mr. Potter. It is there for a reason and children shouldn't be playing around it." He cast a Scourgify on Harry before walking away. Hadrian turned away and, after rounding a corner, took out the map and looked at Quirrell's dot. Sure enough, that Tom Riddle was still there, travelling with him, and far too close to simply be walking with him. Another thing: Professor Quirrell had not stammered even once during their little talk; certainly suspicious. He made his way back to the common room, deep in thought regarding what to do about the Professor. Suddenly, an idea hit him like the Hogwarts Express. Analyzing it, he smiled sinisterly. For now, he decided, he would do nothing until silence was no longer advisable; then, when the moment was perfect, he would blame Quirrell.

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><p>A.N.: Alright, got some good stuff done here, and even left a few plot points for you readers to hang onto until next time. Don't worry: the story is still on track within the original idea, and will return from this little detour shortly. Please read and review. 10 points if you can tell me which cup held which potion: there are seven cups total, cup #1 is on the left and cup #7 is on the right.<p> 


	5. Chapter 4 (title too long to put here)

A.N.: Hello again, and welcome to another installment of Hadrian Potter: Darkness Rising. It's been longer than usual since my last posting, but what can I say, real life had other plans. Please leave a review, so that I know someone out there cares for this story. As always, I own nothing but Hadrian's reactions to events.

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><p>Chapter 4: Merry Pagan Holiday That Was Integrated Into Christianity To Convert The Locals!<p>

—_December 23, 1991—_

Hadrian Potter was quite satisfied with the way his plans were coming to fruition. With Christmas only two days away, Quirrell would be taking the fall for Harry's theft of...whatever it was. He had recruited the Weasley twins (who owed him for redecorating the Slytherin common room) into pranking Quirrell's turban off at breakfast this morning. It was hilarious and involved an illusory dragon slurping it up like a noodle from a pasta dish. As a side effect, it was revealed—in front of some two hundred students and staff, at that—that there was a second face growing out of the back of the Defense Professor's head. It began yelling at Quirrell for being too incompetent to serve the great Lord Voldemort before it disappeared. At this point, what could be seen of Quirrell's skin turned a dusty gray before falling apart into a pile of ash. A black mist rose from the ash pile and fled the castle before most anyone could react (Professor Dumbledore attempted to contain the mist with some sort of enchantment; it obviously failed, as the mist had continued flying straight out of the Great Hall.

The staff examined what little remained of Professor Quirrell for several minutes, after which Dumbledore announced that the late professor had indeed been possessed by the spirit of the Dark Lord Voldemort but, thanks to his ingenious plot, it had been revealed too publicly to be covered up, forcing the Dark Lord to flee or be destroyed. This announcement actually damaged the headmaster's reputation; many Gryffindors had heard of the twins' plotting to jinx Quirrell's turban off today, and to hear Dumbledore take the credit caused many of them to begin doubting the living legend. Several hours later, it was announced that the third floor corridor was once again open to the student body.

The staff told them that Quirrell had successfully stolen the object that had been stored and guarded there before his untimely demise. Harry actually went to Professor McGonagall and told her that he had seen the Defense professor pacing outside the corridor entrance just two days prior. That had been enough for Professor Dumbledore—since Harry had only used magic twice in the whole dungeon; his magical signature had been overwhelmed by the ambient magic that filled all of Hogwarts and the stronger, more permanent magic that the teachers had set up as defenses. Professor Snape volunteered to take up the job for the remainder of term, or at least until they could find someone else to fill the position, so the DADA class was guaranteed to become far more interesting come January.

Regarding Hermione, she still wouldn't answer his letters: the ones he had sent had been returned unopened. He had been worrying all break; he had never really had a good friend before and finding one like Hermione was...he couldn't lose her friendship, at least not without knowing why. He thought that maybe one of the Professors could shed some light on the matter. Deciding not to bother Dumbledore (he was probably too busy to have any interest in Harry's problems), he decided to talk to Professor McGonagall: Hermione looked up to the elderly Transfiguration Mistress; between that and her being Hermione's Head of House, surely she had some insight that could help him.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Potter, but I don't have any idea what might have caused such a rift between the two of you. Did you have a fight, perhaps?"

"No, Professor," Harry said, frustrated with another dead end. He had come to the Deputy Headmistress' office in search of answers, but there were none to be found.

After a short uncomfortable silence in which Harry had become lost in his thoughts, Professor McGonagall cleared her throat before saying "Yes, well, Mr. Potter, I will look into the situation once Ms. Granger returns from winter break. Have you tried asking some of her housemates? They might know a bit more about it than I: teachers may get to know their students well, but never to the level that their peers will." With that, he was dismissed.

Leaving her office, Harry thought about this for a while, before deciding to ask Professor Snape about his thoughts on the subject: the Gryffs may have started being nicer to him, but he was pretty sure they only did so out of obligation. Professor Snape, hard though it may be to believe, was very good at understanding other people's thoughts, even without reading their minds. The man had been talking with Hadrian every once in a while about all kinds of things, once he had "come to terms" with whatever it was that had caused his confusion regarding Harry. Arriving in the dungeon office the Potion Master usually barricaded himself in, Harry knocked lightly and waited a few seconds before the door opened to admit him. He entered, nodding to his Professor.

"What seems to be the trouble, Mr. Potter?" Snape asked, his voice laced with a hint of concern.

"Hermione," Harry replied. The older man nodded, already familiar with the subject at hand. "I just can't figure out what to do about the situation."

"The first thing to do is figure out why she has been avoiding you," the Potions Master said. "Only then can you start to think up a solution." After a second thought, he asked "Have you considered foul play?" Harry raised one eyebrow in question. "Your being sorted into Slytherin has been viewed as there being a chance of you being convinced to join the dark side; forcing your best non-Slytherin friend to avoid you could cause you to lose faith in the light. Have you asked anyone else about this?"

"Only Professor McGonagall as of yet. Is there anyone you would suggest?" Harry asked.

"Madame Pomphrey," Professor Snape said. "She may be able to conduct a more thorough investigation than we could, should it be someone meddling. Other than that, perhaps the Headmaster could give you some insight into this. Good day, Mr. Potter." The Potions Master went back to perusing the papers littering his desk. Harry nodded his goodbye and left, his mind whirring with ideas. Still nervous about involving the Headmaster, he decided to find the nurse before choosing his next course of action. Taking out the map, he prodded it

For the last few days, he had been experimenting with the map: talking to the personality implants the Marauders had built in, giving it various commands and seeing what happened. He often just took it out and used it to observe the castle's residents, in case he spotted something interesting. Usually, there wasn't anything too intriguing (while interesting, he still didn't want to know what Madam Pince and Filch were doing every night in his office), but tonight was different: as he looked about in search of the Hospital Wing, he notice Professor Dumbledore was talking with Weasley and one of the Marauders, whose name was flashing between Wormtail and Peter Pettigrew.

Thinking about it, Hadrian realized that he hadn't encountered Ronald once since the beginning of Christmas Break. Curious as to why he would be in the Headmaster's office, and why Wormtail would be present, he poked the map with his wand where the office was and whispered "Transcribe," to the map. Ink began appearing as if someone were writing with an invisible hand.

_"—mind rejected my Legilimency Probe whenever I tried to access the thoughts about Hadrian. Perhaps he put some sort of block on her? No, that would be beyond his level. In any case, by the time she returns from her home, she will reject his friendship and break his heart. You will swoop in to try being his friend again, and the plan will be back on track."_

_"Great Professor! And then the money and Granger are mine, right?"_

_"Yes, Ronald. Now, have you made any character attacks on Mr. Potter recently?"_

_"Any what?"_

_"Have you been insulting him, his friends, or his family?"_

_"Oh! No, sir...well, not as much as I used to. I'm sure he'll come around, though."_

There was a pause in the writing for a few seconds; presumably, Professor Dumbledore was taking a deep breath to reign in his annoyance with the young ginger. Harry had seen the same expression on his face many times throughout term whenever he was helping out other first years or showing the purebloods some interesting muggle thing.

_"That will have to do, I suppose. Try to be nice to him tomorrow; I know his relatives can't have treated him well on Christmas, so it should be the perfect chance for you to form a more beneficial relationship with him."_

_"Yes, sir."_

_"You are dismissed Mr. Weasley."_

Now the map showed Ronald and Peter leaving the office together. The translate continued, though.

_"The Weasley boy is a useful pawn, but he is too focused on himself to properly promote the Greater Good."_ Dumbledore had begun pacing in his office, his muttering picked up by the map. _"With the stone already gone, there is nothing to instigate an initial conflict between Mr. Potter and Tom; my only consolation is that Tom does not have the stone either, or he and Quirrell would have left the castle before they could be discovered. He couldn't have taken it with him in his spectral form and it wasn't on Quirrell's person or anywhere in his office or quarters. Where could it be?"_ The ancient mage had stopped his pacing nest to the dot labeled 'Fawkes'. _"I am doing the right thing, aren't I, old friend?"_

_"—,"_ Hadrian assumed that Fawkes must be communicating in a way the map couldn't replicate through ink.

_"I must be doing the right thing, or else you would have abandoned me by now."_ Another pause like before. "_Harry Potter must die; I can see no other way for the Prophecy to come true. I cannot allow the needs of the few to distract me from the needs of the many. If only—"_

"End Transcribe," Harry said shakily. "Mischief managed." The map blank, he leaned against the wall, trying to think of a way to deal with this new information: Dumbledore knew of how the Dursleys had treated him, and wanted him friendless sans Ronald—like that would happen. Still...he couldn't use the map to prove Dumbledore's involvement, and even if he could, Wormtail was in on it too, and he had to know the map miles better than Harry did. Out of everything, the last bit was the most worrisome: what prophecy existed about him and Tom Riddle, and why did he have to die. No, he thought, that can wait until later; right now, he had to think of a way to help Hermione get out from under the Headmaster's influence.

The problem, as he saw it, was that the Headmaster had so much power and had earned enough loyalty that anyone speaking against him at this time would likely be dismissed, even the Boy-Who-Lived—especially since he had ended up in Slytherin. He couldn't go to Madame Pomphrey now; that might alert Dumbledore to his discovery. He needed a way to free his friend from the old man's influence in a way that Dumbledore wouldn't think of...something the Headmaster wouldn't think him capable of, or that he wouldn't realize was counteracting his control.

He had an idea on how to deal with such negative influence, but he needed access to some esoteric texts and tools to at least determine whether it was possible or not. He needed to do some magical experimentation. He decided to track down the twins; they were always experimenting, coming up with some new prank object. He just needed to know where they went and he would have a good testing area. Knowing where they could be found right now, even without the map, he slipped into the side corridor off the Great Hall at dinner and continued walking down the stairway until he came to a portrait of a bowl of fruit. Reaching out, he tickled the pear; it began squirming and giggling, until it quite suddenly turned into a doorknob. Turning it, he entered the kitchens and found himself in a sea of house elves. The short servants, upon noticing his presence, immediately began offering him food.

"I don't need anything right now, but if one of you could bring me a meal around midnight, I'm going to be up late working on a personal project. Roast beef on rye with tomatoes, some pumpkin juice, and some green beans, if it won't be any trouble," he told them. "Could one of you point me towards the Weasley twins?"

The house elves all pointed towards a small table in the corner that Harry had overlooked where the two red-heads were plotting. He thanked the small creatures before walking over to the twins and announcing his presence grandly.

"Fred! George! How lovely to see you two," he said in greeting, smiling inwardly as he saw them jump as if startled. "I saw what you did with the Slytherin common room; very gutsy considering that everyone knows who's responsible."

"Hadrian Potter!" said Fred, his smile growing at the sight of the youngest Marauder.

"How's life treating you?" George asked, a matching grin crossing his face.

"Not so good guys. You know how Hermione was avoiding me just before the break?" Harry asked.

"Yeah," the twins said. "What about it?"

"I was using the transcribe ability of the map and I believe that someone is magically manipulating her. I have an idea on how to counter this, but I need some hard to find tools to pull it off. Where do you guys go when you experiment with magic?" Harry asked.

Fred and George shared a look before asking him to pull out the map. He did so, and they pointed to a blank corridor. "There's a room in that hallway that only appears when you pace in front of it three times while thinking of the thing you need," George said.

"It's not even on the map; we only know about it because the house elves told us," Fred added.

"Now if that's all you needed—"

"—we really must get back to our plans—"

"—for Christmas. Breakfast is sure—"

"—to put a smile on every face!" With that, their conversation was finished, and they returned to poring over spell calculations, muttering about bloody mathematical errors. Hadrian glanced at their papers for a second, instantly spotting the mistake, and fixed it with a quick scrawl. Satisfied with the twins' gobsmacked expressions, he exited the kitchens in search of this unique room. Unfortunately, he was being followed by Ronald Weasley, who was trying to strike up a conversation with Harry as if they were old friends. He must have thought he was acting quite smooth, when really he was still being the same arse he'd been all year.

Harry, who was not in the mood for a talk with the ginger twit, put up with him all the way to the sixth floor before he got an idea for the best prank ever: gathering his aplomb, he quickly vaulted over the railing, streaking towards the ground a few hundred feet below. He took out and dropped a Blood Bomb (Fred and George had made some over for Halloween and had given him about half a dozen) before shifting to his destination on the seventh floor. "SWEET MOTHER OF MERLIN! PROF-PROFESSOR DUMBLEDORE!" he heard Weasley shout from the floor below. Smirking at his little joke, Harry continued on until he had reached the proper corridor: a tapestry depicting a bunch of trolls in ballerina outfits trying to dance dominated the wall before him, with the standard suits of armor in line all down the hall.

Remembering his instructions, he paced in front of the room, thinking "I need a place to enchant a book." After his first pass, he felt a flicker of magic, but no door appeared. "I need a place to make Hermione's gift." No doubt about it, something was changing about the wall. He could here shouts in the distance. "I need a place that can help me save her." With this last thought, a grand door appeared beneath the expansive (and doubtlessly expensive) tapestry. Going through the door, he saw the far wall was lined with books about Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, and Warding Charms.

In the center of the room was a rune circle that could help with any ritual wards he may find of use. Finally, the side walls held racks of rune carving tools of all shapes, sizes, and functions. Grinning, He walked to a small desk near the bookshelves and set down his bag. He heard a weird sound from behind him, and when he turned, he saw that the door had disappeared, now only an etching in the wall rather than an actual door; he guessed that the room knew he didn't want to be disturbed. He sighed, knowing that the joke he'd pulled on Weasley would only increase others' interest in finding him. Getting an idea, he called for a house elf.

At once, one of the diminutive servants appeared and, after introducing herself as Patsy, asked why he had called. "If anyone starts looking for me, find them and tell them I'm busy making some Christmas presents and don't want to be disturbed. They're supposed to be surprises, and I don't want anyone spilling the beans. Understand?"

"Yes Sir Mr. Potter," Patsy answered before popping away.

Harry turned to the bookshelves and sighed, preparing himself for a long night.

Meanwhile...

Dumbledore, his face ashen, said "Sweet Merlin...is this true?"

"Y-Yes, Professor," Ronald Weasley said, a look of shock still stuck on his face. "He just...he just jumped off. I saw the floor...there was blood everywhere!" After a moments silence, he asked "Professor, what should we do?"

Dumbledore stared off in to space, clearly deep in thought. Finally, he stood and said "We should deal with the body...perhaps we can still salvage the plan if we hurry," he murmured to himself. Hurrying out of his office with Ronald hot on his tail, the ancient Professor practically raced down the hall towards where the boy's body must be.

He passed many students in the hall, who silently wondered what his hurry was. Finally arriving at the base of the stairway, his face turned even whiter; the blood was nearly everywhere, with no body in sight. But such a fall couldn't have destroyed it so utterly. Feeling a new presence behind him, he turned to see the Caretaker Filch standing there, observing the mess with an uncharacteristic calm. Seeing Dumbledore's incredulous stare, the aged caretaker said "It's one of the Weasley twins Blood Bombs; they clean themselves up after an hour or two. Useful that." With that, he walked away.

Dumbledore stood there, first shocked, then relieved: Hadrian still lived! Relief turned to worry when he realized that he still had no idea where the boy was or what he was doing. Sending off the Weasley boy (who didn't realize how badly he'd been fooled) the Headmaster thought for a moment before that getting the house elves to find the boy. Calling out "Paddy!" he heard a pop signaling the elf's arrival.

"You called, Masters Fire Whiskers?" the ancient elf asked.

"Yes, Paddy, I need the elves to find Harry Potter, he is somewhere in the castle, and I need to confirm that he still lives," Dumbledore said.

"The elves already know where the Snakey Boy is; he is making presents in the room of Hidden Things," the elf said in reply. Glancing once each way conspiratorially, the elf said in a hushed whisper "It's supposed to be a surprise!" Regaining an air of respect, the elf continued "If that is all Masters Fire Whiskers neededs, Paddy must return to kitchens; we is already making Christmas dinner." The elf then disappeared with a pop, having not received a reply. Dumbledore sighed: he had no idea where the Room of Hidden Things was, so he was going to have to wait for the boy to show up.

Back in the Room of Requirement, Harry was hard at work researching the spells necessary to pull this off. After a few hours of this, an elf popped in with his requested meal. He pushed away the books and ate quickly, his mind going a mile a minute, as the phrase went. His plan was to take a book and ward it in a way that it would that any magic designed to influence its carrier would be removed after a few minutes: Tracking Charms, curses, Confundus Charms, even the Imperius. He had found the wards necessary for such a task, but the ward circle was very complex, and since it had to be hand-carved into the book, the runes forming them would be infinitesimal. He might very well be working on this for the next solid day, if he messed up: he hadn't mastered the repair charm well enough to only erase one carved rune the size of a flea; it would likely delete a whole section, if it didn't repair the whole book. He had to be extra careful. Cleaning himself off from his meal, he summoned his book bag and pulled out the book he had in mind. "Hogwarts: A History, 1st Edition" read the cover.

Hadrian had been in near constant correspondence with his Gringotts manager, dealing with his investments, moving around certain funds, and going over the list of everything he owned, as well as receiving updates on the process of getting Sirius a trial—there was a small mountain of red tape in the way that couldn't just be cleared with a simple "He didn't get a trial" line.

But back to the matter at hand: apparently, one of the Potter vaults was just for physical items such as books, weapons, armor, or magical foci. He had seen this particular book and thought it would make a good gift. He had researched it and discovered that there were only about one hundred in existence. He also knew for a fact that the Potters owned three. He sent a letter to Thrashgrab requesting the book and it had arrived a few days later.

And now he was going to spend the next several hours carving runes into it. He sighed, before gathering the rune carving equipment made for fine manipulation tasks such as this and prepared himself for the longest night of his life.

—_December 24, 1991—_

Noon.

It had taken until noon to complete. It was 11:56 am when he finally stumbled out of the room, his eyes bloodshot and sore. He trudged through the halls, intent on getting something to eat before sending off his present and collapsing into bed. He entered the Great Hall, and many people turned to stare at him. Ignoring their looks, he trudged to his seat at the Slytherin table and began munching on some toast. Feeling a presence behind him, he groaned before turning to face the Weasel. Ronald stood there, grinning like the fool that he was, before saying "Long night, mate?" Not even waiting for an answer (although the death stare he was getting certainly qualified), he continued "Listen, about what happened last night, there's no need to apologize; I can take a joke. Anyway, do you wanna—?"

"Weasley," Hadrian interrupted.

"Yeah?" the ginger git asked, his eyes lighting up.

"I really don't have time for this today; I'm going to be sending my presents to my friends and then going to bed. Maybe we can continue this chat another time, if we're lucky." Harry turned back to his food, the wrapped present on his lap.

Ronald, having missed the sarcasm in Harry's statement, said "Sure thing, mate! Catch you later!" before disappearing back to the Gryffindor table. Harry groaned before getting up and staggering his way out of the hall towards the Owlery to send off the present. Deciding to take a few last minute precautions, he attached his present for Hermione to the one for Draco (a large amount of Chocolate Frogs) to Hedwig, who gave him a small nip accompanied by a burst of sympathetic emotion. As she flew off in search of Malfoy, Hadrian turned around and headed for the dungeons, intent on getting some rest.

As he returned to the Slytherin common room, he gave himself a pat on the back for the sheer amount of protection Hermione would have now: the book would ward her against Legilimency in a way that no one would be able to find "her" mindscape, as it would be hidden by a mental illusion placed around the book. It also had Anti-Compulsion runes laid into it in a pattern that covered all of the more long-term controlling magicks, such as love potions (or similar potion) or any Behavior Modifier spells. Any instantaneous controlling magicks would simply be deflected into the empty mindscape of space: no Obliviation, no Confundus Charms, even the Imperius Curse couldn't penetrate these wards. It also had a Ward of Misdirection on it: any Tracking Charms or similar charm placed on her would report inaccurate data for ten minutes before said charm would be removed by the specialized anti-magic field that flared every ten minutes that would remove any magical spells affecting her that were conflicting with her own magic, since only harmful magic would do so.

Of course, the truly genius moves were two-fold: firstly, the book would return to her through any wards from any location if removed from her person against her will for more than a minute; once it returned, it would battle off any mental influences affecting her. It would return even quicker if it was removed in such a manner many times in a short time frame. The thing that tied it all together was the Fidelius Charm he had cast, not on the book itself, but the runes he had laid into it.

To anyone looking at the book, it would appear to be in pristine condition. For objects such as this—things that could be considered priceless objects—many families had the goblins make the object in question virtually indestructible, with the sole exception of rune carving tools made by goblins. As his rune carving tools were, in fact, forged by goblins, they could carve into the otherwise damage-proof tome. It also meant that no one would be able to destroy the book unless they were exceptionally powerful and had mastered Goblin Enchanting Magick even more so than the goblin who had placed it. All in all, it would protect Hermione from future mental invasions.

As he came out of his thoughts, he realized he had already entered his personal room. He locked the door, disrobed, and just fell into bed, asleep before his head hit the pillows.

—_December 25, 1991—_

Dumbledore sat on his golden throne at the Head Table, smiling benevolently out at the students that had opted to stay at Hogwarts for the Winter Holidays. His plan looked to be on track: Ronald and his twin brothers had managed to drag Hadrian over to the Gryffindor table during lunch—of course, there weren't a lot of Slytherins in the castle at the moment, so there weren't a lot of the people who would object to such acceptance. He had not even bothered tracking the presents the boy had sent to his personal friends, for he had given much more impersonal gifts to the entire castle. Young Hadrian had approached him at breakfast and requested his permission to perform a great deal of magic in the Great Hall before dinner came around. He had agreed, and was delighted to find the ceiling was now lightly snowing, and there was some angelic music playing from somewhere he couldn't quite place.

Yes, the boy was turning out to be a fine young lad; the plan might just be salvaged yet! The boy could come to see him as a mentor figure and would become much more willing to listen to him. He could be a spy for him in Slytherin house, reporting on all the dark activities that he was sure were taking place right under his nose. As a show of good faith, he had sent the lad his father's True Invisibility Cloak, with several tracking Charms attached—he couldn't allow the lad to just wander around wherever he wanted, now could he? Who knows, he might even let the boy have his friend back if he behaved. As he looked down at the students enjoying the Christmas feast, he felt triumphant: the plan to kill Tom once and for all was back on track.

Down at the Gryffindor table, Ronald Weasley was also reveling in his own awesomeness at succeeding in making friends with Harry Potter: the slimy snake had consented to join him at the lion's table at his own request! Well, maybe the twins helped a bit, but the credit was almost all his own. He tried to pay attention to the conversation Hadrian was having with the Fred, but he honestly didn't care about Charms class—to be honest, he was having trouble doing anything that could distract him from his current task: trying to simultaneously stuff his face, and keeping control of his bodily functions that were busy trying to tell him to slow down.

Hadrian inwardly smiled, making sure to keep his expression on the outside blank. Once he had gotten a few hours sleep, he was woken by his stomach's growling insistence that he eat. His plans were going well: he had to keep Dumbledore from stopping to think about what had happened the past few days or he'd realize something was wrong and take countermeasures. Harry had asked permission to cast several spells around the Great Hall, which the Headmaster had allowed. He made sure that the only malevolent spell was surrounded by more innocent charms; with any luck, Weasley wouldn't be leaving the bathroom until New Years.

His Christmas had gone great so far: he had received a magical pocket-watch from Draco that told the time, the date, and could, if the proper button was pushed, turn into a compass, magical radar, or a clock that could tell him where certain people were or how they were (instructions for adding people came with it). The twins had sent him a small arsenal of prank supplies—which he intended to make good use of—and oddly enough, their mother had sent him some presents as well: firstly, a large, apparently hand-knit wool sweater the color of his eyes with a large black H on the front, as well as a gift basket of assorted sweets. Both items were laced with Loyalty spells/potions. Smirking, he used his recently acquired knowledge and dealt with both items quickly before eating some Chocolate Cauldrons. He had attempted to get out of wearing the bulky sweater, but as soon as the twins heard that he'd gotten a "Weasley sweater," they had insisted he put it on—and he had caved. It was Christmas, after all. He had noted, with no small amount of amusement, that the twins were wearing sweaters with the other twin's initial on it.

He had also received a strange cloak that made him invisible from an anonymous source, with only a note saying to use it well—it was also covered in Tracking Charms and Loyalty Charms, with a few Compulsions thrown into the mix. He had, once again, had to dig out his wand and remove them (although it had been much more difficult this time...perhaps a different, more powerful caster). Probably the best present he had gotten yet was the scrapbook from Hagrid: it was filled with pictures of his parents from their days at school. He had spent hours that morning just slowly flipping through, a small smile gracing his face.

His mother had vibrant red hair—not like Ariel from the Little Mermaid, that was ridiculously red—but more an auburn color, like a medium brown with red streaks running through it. Her face was a bit like McGonagall's, with very pronounced cheekbones and almost an aristocratic look to it. Of course, the same look graced Petunia's face, but her face was so painfully thin, it turned from a noble look to a horse-like one. Her eyes were easily her most obvious feature: a bright, almost luminescent green color, glowing like polished emeralds in a dimly lit room. The spark of high intelligence glistening in her eyes could only be overcome by the look of love that filled them when she looked at James. She wasn't too tall, but not too short either, and was quite thin—again, a look that Petunia couldn't make work.

Overall, though, Hadrian was much more similar to his father, having inherited little more than her memorable eyes. His father's cheeks, for instance, were much fuller, just like his, and his father's hair looked a lot like his own had once upon a time and probably would still look if he hadn't tamed it. He was much taller than Lily, her forehead resting on his chest. Combined with his powerful Chaser build (his father had played both Chaser and Seeker for Gryffindor in his time) and the air of confidence he exuded, he must have had quite the forceful presence. The glasses resting on his nose were the only sign of potential weakness, although his eyes were obviously sharp enough to see the Snitch from across the Quidditch stadium.

Mostly, the pictures were of his mum and dad together on dates and other such things, but there were also several pictures them hanging out with some other guys. There was a lanky sort of boy with a haggard look to him, with light sandy hair and a shy, sheepish smile, as though he wasn't sure he should be there—Remus Lupin, according to the description beneath such pictures. Harry idly wondered if the man was perhaps a werewolf, given his name: at the very least, he must be descended from one.

Another common sight was a small boy that reminded him of Dudley's friend Pierre, with his dark brown, beady eyes darting every which way, and his sharp, pointed nose. His hair was a dark blond, almost brown, while his skin was quite pale, as though he didn't get enough sunshine—but then, they did spend most of the year in Scotland; it wasn't outside the realm of possibility. He was Peter Pettigrew, the man that had been in the office with Dumbledore.

The third most common face in the book was most often joking around with James, a wide smirk on his face as though the whole world was one great big joke that only he knew the punch line to. His hair was a jet black color, just like James, but that was the only similarity between them: his skin was very light, but not quite to the same level as Peter's was. His hair was mostly under control, but was just untamed enough to seem naturally good-looking. Even through the picture, he seemed to ooze roguish charm. He had a thinner build than James did, more built for speed and dexterity than for power, and wasn't anywhere near as tall as James was. His coal black eyes seemed like bottomless pits, and his hands seemed built for more delicate work. He gave off a slight air of arrogance, as though the world existed for his entertainment. His name, according to the book, was Sirius Black. Hadrian remembered the conversation with Thrashgrab about the man and scowled at the thought of it: he still didn't know if he was innocent or not, and it was eating at him.

The final addition was less common than the others: a small, sickly boy with greasy hair and a long hooked nose, his black eyes staring out at him, expressionless. Oddly enough, he was never in the picture with James or the other boys, only with Lily. Harry thought he recognized him, before he noticed something more important than his identity. Every single picture held the signs: a slight limp, careful actions, it all added up. He was being abused, bullied, or both. What really shocked him was that the boy in the picture was apparently his Potions Professor, Severus Snape. Harry had been thinking about the scrapbook all day: from the looks of it, Professor Snape had been friends with his mother—but not necessarily his father—and they'd had some sort of falling out. It would certainly explain the man's less than warm welcome at the beginning of the year: seeing Harry must have drug up old memories.

The book had got him thinking: he realized that he knew next to nothing about his parents or their childhood friends. These were people he could've—should've—grown up knowing. Something Professor McGonagall had said sprang to mind: teachers may get to know their students well, but never to the level that their peers will. Professor Snape had been in the same year as his parents, and from the looks of it, had been his one of Lily's friends. Harry got the feeling that Snape had taken a lot of flack for that; it was hard for Harry to get the Slytherins to change their ways now, but Snape had been a muggleborn's friend during the days of the first war. It must have been hell—whether Slytherin house was wholly responsible for his injuries, or were merely part of the problem was irrelevant.

Harry had realized that he knew next to nothing about his parents: what they had been like, what kind of magicks they excelled at, who their friends were, their hobbies. Looking through his scrapbook, he felt something in his chest similar to the feeling Hermione gave him. He resolved to learn everything about his parents that he could, and Professor Snape would be an excellent source of information. Closing and putting the photo book away, he had gone to join the rest of the student body in the Great Hall for the Christmas feast.

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><p>A.N.: Well, there you have it. What exactly is going on with Dumbledore? Only time will tell. Hermione should be better by the time she returns, and Ronald is going to continue being an arse. Until next time! Next chapter should conclude Hermione's problem and introduce Norbert. Please read and review!<p> 


	6. Hermione, Norbert, and Filch: Oh My!

A.N.: Hello, Internet. As you can clearly see, I'm back, and I've brought the new chapter of Hadrian Potter: Darkness Rising with me. I've been really busy lately, but hopefully there will be another chapter a week or so into the summer. As always, please leave a review: every last bit of constructive criticism goes towards making the story better.

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><p>Chapter 5: Hermione, Norbert, and Filch: Oh My!<p>

—_January 2, 1992—_

Hadrian Potter was satisfied. His Christmas Day prank had been pull off without a hitch: according to the twins, Ron Weasley had spent the entire 26th in one of the fifth floor boy's loo. What's more, his new invisibility cloak was much more powerful than he originally expected: while he was wearing it, he didn't even show up on the Marauder's Map which, according to Prongs, should only happen for Prongs' personal cloak; anyone else under an invisibility cloak showed up plain as day. He was still worried about Pettigrew, and had spent several hours perusing the map. Eventually he had decided that Pettigrew must have been in his animagus form, since he appeared to always be with Ronald, despite his eyes' evidence to the contrary. After consulting the twins, all without revealing exactly why he was asking, he concluded that Pettigrew must be just in disguise as Scabbers. This only furthered Harry's suspicions of the man: after all, who willingly hides as a rat for over a decade?

As today was the last day of the winter break, Hermione would be returning to Hogwarts and the school year would begin once more. With his two best friends once more by his side, he should be able to survive the Headmaster's machinations: it was only a matter of time before the old man caught on to his subterfuge and continued attempting to control Harry's life. As for Harry, he was looking forward to a less stressful semester—the exams were going to be a snap, so they didn't count as stressful...well, except for Hermione. He was sure she would be biting people's heads off by May if he couldn't get her to calm down.

The Hogwarts Express would be arriving just in time for lunch, with classes resuming tomorrow. Harry was at lunch when the doors to the Great Hall burst open and the students who had left for the break streamed back in, separating to their respective tables—with one exception. Hermione Granger was running towards the Slytherin table, tears running down her face. She arrived, huffing and puffing in front of Harry and began babbling an apology. Harry shushed her and motioned for her to sit down and, after throwing up an obscure privacy charm, he turned to her and said "Okay, Hermione, now explain what happened. Slowly." He noted that Draco was keeping his distance for the moment, understanding that this was a private conversation.

Hermione took several deep breaths before she began talking. "After I borrowed that book from you, I began researching that...thing you turned into. When I found out what it was...is...I sort of...panicked. I wasn't sure what to think of it, and I began avoiding you—I just needed some time to think about it." She paused, taking a second to get her tears under control. "Then...something happened. Whenever I thought about talking to you, are being your friend again, or Draco's friend, a voice in my head told me that it proved you were evil, that you were just using me like the Gryffindors thought. I could feel deep down that it wasn't true, that you were really my friend, but I couldn't fight the voice. It was too...convincing. Compelling."

"When I went home, my parents began asking me about you. I...I didn't want to talk about you. I felt...ashamed, scared, and I don't know what else. Then, when your present arrived, the voice said to get rid of it, that it would be a curse or something. but then my parents wanted to see what it was, and when I opened the box—it was like a wave washed over me. The wave destroyed the voice, I could feel it disappearing, and I could finally think for myself. I was worried that the wave might be some sort of compulsion, so I did the Aura Analysis spell to see what it was supposed to do. After I determined that it wasn't anything harmful, I knew you had figured it out and had found a way to counteract whatever had caused the voice."

At this point, the tears were returning. In a half-sobbing voice, she said "I-If you d-don't want me ar-around anymore—that is, if you d-don't want me t-to b-be your friend anymore...I...I understand. I won't b-bother you anymore."

At this, she made to stand up, until Harry yanked her back down. "Hermione," he said softly, "Please look at me." She obeyed, hesitantly. When he was sure he had her attention, he said "I know that you would never betray me without being forced: our friendship is too strong for that. I was inconsolable for days after you left, until I found out what had happened—purely by chance. I was using a map that was apparently constructed by my father and his friends when they were at school. I spent several days just trying to figure out everything it can do. It's a perfect map of the castle—even most of the secret areas and the common rooms, complete with passwords for anything and everything. It can also transcribe all conversation taking place in a room you specify. I used that particular function to overhear a conversation between Weasley and the Headmaster, where they discussed their plans for controlling me by forcing you to avoid me; it's best if we avoid the both of them whenever possible." Hermione's expression at this turned to disbelief, then to shock, finally settling on determination.

"You're sure of this?" she asked quietly.

"Positive," Harry replied. Hermione sniffed, and suddenly engulfed in a hug filled that seemed to explode with her feelings for him: regret, shame, and sadness, but also pride, acceptance, and...that odd feeling he himself had felt. He awkwardly returned the embrace, unsure of how to proceed. He noticed with no small sense of satisfaction that Dumbledore looked as if he'd swallowed a lemon whole.

As they parted and Harry dropped his spell, Draco came over and the three of them discussed how their holiday had gone over a wonderful Hogwarts dinner. Harry clued in Draco to the map and cloak he had received, as well as his alliance with the twins, while Draco told him about how his father's party had gone.

"Most of the Department Heads arrived, as did a few members of the Wizengamot. The Minister was there, of course—he and Father are very close friends—as well as several of the children who had also gone home for the break. The other kids and I mostly milled around—they looked so uncomfortable—while the adults got drunk and made small talk. It's absolute bull, and they know it: those kinds of parties only exist to allow the adults to make familial alliances, possibly including Marriage Contracts for their kids." Here, he gave a shudder before continuing. "Pansy, Theo, and I decided to practice our spell work so as to be prepared for the new semester, but we were interrupted by Hedwig's arrival. My father noticed and asked me about the progress I'd made with you."

"And you told him..." Harry asked, one eyebrow raised.

"That you were at least willing to listen and argue the point, rather than dismissing it as nonsense outright, as he expected."

Hadrian smiled. "So your father is continuing to underestimate me, then?"

"Absolutely," Draco replied. "You may have been sorted into Slytherin, but the world still thinks you're a Gryffindor at heart—a theory that your actions have yet to counter, by the way. The darker people of the Wizarding world think you're a sap you can be fooled into anything, even joining Slytherin. The more condescending portions of the population believe you to still be staying on the straight and narrow. I just smile and nod, knowing that both groups are wrong."

"That's just how Harry is, though," Hermione said. "He's not a hero or a villain—at least, not yet, anyway."

Harry just smiled his little half-smile and finished eating.

As the last of the deserts disappeared, Professor Dumbledore stood up and said "As always, a wonderful Hogwarts feast. Over the winter break, there was an altercation involving Professor Quirrell, who will not be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts anymore. Until someone can be found to fill the position, Professor Snape shall teach it." At this, a wave of complaints came from the Gryffindor table. "I know that you will all understand the stress he is under from teaching both classes and not do anything to worsen it, understood?" He gazed sternly at the people who had just spoken out; very few returned his gaze.

His expression brightened. "Good. Now, off to bed! You all have classes in the morning. Good night!" At that, the prefects began ushering their respective charges out of the Great Hall, many of whom were too busy discussing the staffing changes to notice that the three Weasleys had disappeared from the red group of students. Before she left to join the other Gryffindors, Hermione handed Harry his creature book back to him with a sticky note attached. All it said was 'Page 33, Reference 2'.

He and Draco traded stories back and forth as they made their way to the common room: Harry with stories of Weasley's humiliation, and Draco regarding his father's political manipulations: apparently, the minister was nothing more than a puppet controlled with strings woven with gold. Once they had arrived, the prefects announced an early lights out, on orders from the Headmaster. Harry bade his friend good night and went to his own room.

Over an hour later, when all the lights had finally gone off, Harry cast a few surreptitious detection spells on his room. Not finding any monitoring charms (not even any obscure ones) he took out the book, using a Lumos from his wand for reading light. He turned to page 33 and was greeted by a moving picture of a large, dark shadow creature.

_"The Dementor is one of the most mysterious and terrifying creatures ever discovered by Wizarding kind. Averaging just under three meters in height, the dementor can only be seen by creatures with a magical core. They are blind, sensing their prey through unique senses allowing them to detect emotional states and magical power, seeking out the weakest presences first. The most well-known ability of the Dementor is its nightmare aura, which causes those nearby to relive their most horrible memories._

_Dementors feed on positive feelings, sucking the emotion out of happy memories; it has been determined that long-term exposure to a Dementor's aura can result in long-term emotional and psychological damage, insanity, and reduced magical power. It was recently discovered that a werewolf seemed more resistant to this aura than others, although it has been suggested that this is due to the animalistic mind of the werewolf being less based on emotion than the human mind._

_Perhaps the most dreaded ability the dementor possesses is the Dementor's Kiss. the Dementor is capable of sucking the soul out of a creature in such a way that the body still lives, but does so in a state of catatonia. No cure has ever been discovered, and for that reason, it has been used as a punishment by the European Ministries of Magic for centuries._

_One of the few pieces of good news is that Dementors rarely breed. New Dementors are scarce during times of peace and prosperity,, while more common during economic depressions and, most often, war. It has also been observed that in regards to mating cycles, winter seems to show the largest population growth of all four seasons. Whether this is due to the nature of Dementors themselves or requires other, unconnected events is unknown at this time._

_Dementors have rarely been killed, and no Dementor has died from lack of happy thoughts or age. The Patronus Charm(1), however, is capable of driving them off—though it has proven difficult to learn and cast even for powerful wizards. It is a charm that forms a physical manifestation of the caster's pleasant memories, a manifestation so concentrated that it repels Dementors, Lethifolds, and even weak Reapers(2). It has been suggested that this is similar to a phenomenon muggles call 'O.'. The advantage of the Patronus Charm over other more aged solutions is that the Patronus Charm has no risk of affecting one's allies—friendly fire causing pleasurable comas would do more damage to a force than even a single dementor._

_Despite that, the Patronus Charm is only capable of driving a Dementor back, not killing it. Dragon fire from a fully grown wyrm is capable of destroying a Dementor outright, while the Killing Curse(3) can also affect it, although because the curse targets the soul, a Dementor can use those souls it has Kissed to avoid the instant death that curse means for most creatures. Divine magic can destroy Dementors as well, and many were destroyed by Christian magi during the Crusades(4). Finally, the Reaper is capable of killing most any creature, even Dementors, with a blow from its blade, although it is not known exactly how it does so._

_1: The Patronus Charms full effects, arithmantic breakdown, and casting methods are fully detailed in "Drowning Out the Darkness" by Sir Andrew MacMillan, pages 291-294._

_2: See page 501._

_3: "Magical Defense III: Spell Compendium" by Lord Mordred Potter, pages 7-8, 153, and 416._

_4: Christians, Christian magi, and the Crusades are detailed in "Magic, Religion, and Our Place in the Universe" by Patricia Clearwater, pages 38-104."_

Hadrian's mind churned: this creature sounded quite a bit like the Other Him...but not quite. Trying to remember what was different, he instead remembered the note: 'Reference 2.' Flipping through to page 501. The picture depicted a being that oozed darkness: a tall, skeletal being wearing a thick, heavy cloak and wielding a long, sharp-looking scythe; it looked like Death itself.

_"The Reaper is a creature of utter darkness, and is one of the most powerful creatures ever encountered. It can grow up to 4 meters tall and appears as a skeleton wearing a pitch black cloak. The Reaper possesses the nightmare aura and Kiss abilities of the Dementor(1)—indeed, the Reaper seems to be a far more powerful version of the dreadful creature. It is often seen carrying a long black pole with a blade attached to the end reminiscent of a scythe, although there are reports of Reapers carrying daggers and, even rarer, nothing at all, attacking their victims with long claws. The Reaper's blade is a fearsome weapon that is credited with killing many creatures with a single blow, including Dragon Wyrms, Dementors, Sea Serpents, and powerful wizards; even a Patronus spell can be destroyed by such a blow. What is worse is that a Reaper is capable of controlling and commanding shadow creatures, including Dementors. Among such creatures, they are considered royalty and, in fact, owned the island of Azkaban as their native country._

_The differences between Reapers and Dementors are many: firstly, the weapon many Reapers carry is impossible to remove from its possession, even if not actively held. The Reaper is also visible to muggles, a fact that announced their presence to the religious community and resulted in the "Demon Purge"(2) that accompanied the Crusades, a violent regime that cut down a significant percentage of the Dementor population (at the hands of the fanatical Christian magi), and the complete extermination of the Reapers. No Reaper has been seen since this purge, although prophecy tells that their return would result in drastic, climatic changes for our world. Killing a Reaper has only ever been accomplished by Christian mages, who employed the fickle power of Divine Magick(3) to destroy these creatures. The ICW, still in its early stages, swooped in to assuage the religious community, while taking over Azkaban to subjugate the Dementors. The cursed island's fortress-castle has since been turned into Azkaban Prison._

_Reapers have many abilities that, unfortunately, are not very well known given their reclusive nature and frightening countenance. Furthermore, stories of their powers are often exaggerated, making it difficult to separate fact from fiction. What is known, however, is that they are capable of Shadowmancy(4) and are extremely resistant to magic; back when they walked among us, complex shadowmancy wards were required to keep them from simply appearing in your bedroom. Perhaps the most infamous story is that of a Reaper who supposedly could take human form and were capable of powerful magic: such stories are considered the source of the image both the magical and muggle world have of Death's physical form. These being were the original Warlocks(5), and their powers of darkness and destruction were legendary; although limited in scope, they made up for it with raw power.  
><em>

_1: See page 33._

_2: Christian magi and the Demon Purge are detailed in "Magic, Religion, and Our Place in the Universe" by Patricia Clearwater, pages 38-104._

_3: Divine Magick is currently being studied in the Department of Mysteries. Citizens are warned to avoid any contact with it; if you use it, be prepared for the consequences. It is covered in "Divine Power: Religion, Belief, and Punishment" by Gerald Beckerley, pages 50-73._

_4: Shadowmancy is exressly forbidden by The Western European Ministries of Magic and severely regulated worldwide. It is discussed in "Be Afraid of the Dark" by Lord Aries Black, pages 318-330._

_5: Warlocks and the various abilities commonly displayed by them are mentioned in "Be Afraid of the Dark" by Lord Aries Black, pages 212-219."  
><em>

Hadrian sat, shocked, for several minutes, before he closed the book, putting it away, and crawling back into bed, his mind ablaze with thoughts of what he'd just found out.

Later that next day, Harry had cornered Hermione about what she'd discovered: what exactly his having such a form meant about him and about them. She told him that she had decided that it was just another part of Harry that was far more dark than light that she would look past for their friendship. Harry had also insisted that they both begin learning Occlumency to shield their minds; he explained the research he had put into making the book for her and his discovery of Legilimency. Needless to say, she had not been happy to discover that trained wizards could read minds without their victims knowing any the wiser.

They had begun training the next day after they had researched the Mind Arts to Hermione's satisfaction: so far, could focus their mind enough to locate their core, but could not yet shape it. Draco had joined in, saying that his shields needed work; at his friends looks, he told them that many pureblood children were taught the basics of Occlumency in their early childhood and were told to practice now and again. With him explaining the process to them, they had been making significant progress when they had discovered something interesting: Both Harry and Hermione, upon locating their cores, had discovered what appeared to be strings attached that led off past the edge of her mindscape.

Hermione had a string of dark gray with bands of red, green, black, and white intertwined, while Harry had two strings: one that appeared to be half red, half black, with a thin strand of green tying them together and another string that was equal parts silver, blue, and gold. None of them had ever heard of such a thing, even after their extensive research into the subject. Draco told them he'd ask his godfather, Professor Snape, who had originally taught him the Mind Magick. For now, though, they had to work on avoiding Dumbledore's manipulations; the old man had returned to his puppet master ways after he discovered Hermione's return to normal, and it was taking all their combined deviousness to avoid him. He had already attempted to re-apply his spells to Hermione, only to have them fail with a few minutes as the books defenses destroyed them. And so, life continued for the Silver Trio of Hogwarts.

—_January 12, 1992—_

Hadrian Potter gathered his stuff together as the bell rang, signaling the end of their Transfiguration class and releasing them for lunch. Harry, Draco, and Hermione left together towards the Entrance Hall; Harry had gotten a letter from Hagrid a several days prior insisting that he and Hermione come down because he had something special to show them. They had gone and been subjected to Hagrid's cooking and the tale of how he had obtained the dragon egg now boiling in his cooking pot. While they were both very interested in seeing a live dragon, they had a few small problems with Hagrid keeping a dragon.

—_Flashback—_

_"Hagrid," Harry said slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. "You cannot raise a dragon here at Hogwarts. For one thing it's illegal—"_

_"Well, yeah," Hagrid said, shifting uncomfortably. "But I know the two of yeh aren't gonna tell no one."_

_"People will notice eventually, though, and you'll get in trouble with the law," Hermione said. "We don't want to see you get in trouble, but we can't help you if you won't let us."_

_"I can keep him nice and hidden, don' you worry."_

_"Hagrid, you live in a wooden house," Harry said. "It is likely that this baby dragon is going to sneeze some time in the week after it's born and burn the whole thing down. Furthermore," he said, seeing Hagrid was about to say something more. "That is a Norwegian Ridgeback egg. Not only is it dangerous, but it is also one of the largest and fiercest of the dragons. By the time we graduate Hogwarts, it will be big enough to wear your house as a hat."_

_"I could hide 'em in th' forest—"_

_"Which, even just a few months down the line, would require that they don't ever fly at all, so as not to be seen above the tree line." Harry sighed. "I know it's hard, but we need to get the dragon somewhere safe before it grows too large to be transported—and before you've developed an even stronger emotional attachment. The longer this goes on, the more likely you are to get caught, and the more it's going to hurt when you finally have to let go." As he finished, he watched his largest friend for a few minutes, who appeared to be going through some tough thoughts._

_Finally Hagrid, tears in his eyes said "Alrigh', I know they'll have t'...t' go soon, but can I at leas' see 'em hatch?"_

_"Of course!" Hermione exclaimed. "And once we know where they are, we can go visit: most dragon preserves allow it. When will they be hatching?"_

_The big man visibly brightened, before saying "It should be abou' a week or so. I'll send yeh a letter. Don't bring anyone yeh don't trust," he said, giving them a sharp look. They knew he was referring to Draco; Hagrid had always been a bit skeptical of that particular friendship._

—_End Flashback—_

They had received the letter at breakfast today: the egg was in the final stages, and should be hatching a little after noon. Harry and Hermione had been busy the next few days trying to figure out what to do about the situation. Harry asked the twins for help and they mentioned that their brother Charlie worked at the Romanian Dragon Preserve and would probably be of great help. They had already sent a letter to the older Weasley, requesting advice and assistance with their situation, and he had agreed, only asking where and when he should have someone come by the pick the little guy up. They had argued over the date with Hagrid, finally settling on the Groundskeeper having two weeks with "his baby."

They sent him a letter telling him to have someone at the top of the Astronomy Tower at midnight on the 27th. It had taken a while for the two of them to get Draco to meet with Hagrid, but in the end, he was convinced: Draco had a fascination with dragons that could only be outdone by Hagrid's own near-obsession. As the three of them walked down to Hagrid's house, they discussed Snape's first DADA lesson: the dark professor had swept into the room with his usual air of confidence and given them one of his trademark speeches.

—_Flashback—_

_"The Dark Arts are infinite in variety. Every time you have conquered one, whether through mastery, or successful defense, there will already be another dozen waiting in the wings, ready to rip you to shreds. While this class is traditionally known as Defense Against the Dark Arts, a more accurate title would be Combat Magick or, at the very least, Defensive Magick. Rest assured," he said, seeing a few Gryffindors ready to object, "I will be teaching you to defend yourselves from the Dark Arts. I will also be teaching you to defend yourselves from other Magicks as well: while the Dark Arts tend to include the most damaging offensive Magicks, they are by no means the only Magicks that include such spells."_

_At this point, the Professor paused, as if waiting for something to happen. Sure enough, Weasley began ranting about how 'that slimy git' was obviously trying to corrupt them towards the Dark Arts, finishing by drawing his wand on the teacher. Professor Snape, with what looked like only a single wave of his wand, silenced, disarmed, and bound Weasley to his chair with what appeared to be silk rope before resuming his lecture. "I have just used what is normally referred to as 'The Duelist's Hello.' It is a low-level spell-chain that can be very effective in a duel against an opponent near or below your level: one's speed at casting the spell chain is opposed by your opponent's reaction speed and your spell power by their shield strength. An opponent above your level has either already cast it at you, dodged it, or shielded themselves from it, and you have lost the initiative that, more than likely, they gave to you out of arrogance or boredom. Spell-chains are useful because they allow for faster casting; the end movements of one spell lead into the next. The ability to create spell-chains on the fly, or to identify spell-chains on the battlefield or in the dueling ring is a difficult skill to acquire, much less to master, but an invaluable one. Should you have the natural skill for it, it would be wise to practice it when you can._

_"Because you are only first years, I will be stressing to you the importance of mastery over the lesser hexes: the more you practice, the less difficult subsequent castings will become. Furthermore, even minor spells can be catastrophic if used creatively, and most duelists can recognize such spells and ignore them, giving you an opportunity to slip in something unexpected. Somebody give me an example of a spell you've already mastered." Several hands shot into the air. Snape scanned the room, before calling on one of the Gryffs: "Yes, Ms. Brown?"_

_The girl nervously said "The...cosmetic charm, sir?"_

_He looked at her for a moment, before smirking. "Tell me, Ms. Brown, what happens when you overpower a cosmetic charm?"_

_"Your face ends up covered in whatever makeup you were trying to apply," she replied._

_"Indeed," Professor Snape said. "The cosmetic charm is an interesting example: it is one of the very few minor charms that is designed to resist dispelling, and because of the magic supporting it, is incredibly difficult to wash off. Were you to use this spell in a duel on your opponent, and deliberately overpowered it, the resulting mess would make it difficult to see, possibly blinding them until it could be removed. It would, however, be stopped by even the least powerful shields, so it would be wise to link it to a shield breaker if you could. Another example...yes, Mr. Nott?"_

_"The Animation Charm, sir," the boy said._

_"A common use it to animate some large object, perhaps something you have transfigured from it's original form to be of more use...at your level, you could animate a handful of pebbles to harass your opponent: there are very few shields that block physical attacks, and such a distraction could give you the edge you need. The Levitation Charm can be used on your opponent to send them into the air, their wand to throw off their aim, or their clothes to serve as a distraction. A Cooking Charm is a very controlled flame spell which, if overpowered, could cause anything touching your opponent to become white-hot. Most of the spells you shall be learning this year in your other classes you can utilized to defend yourself if necessary. That is one of my goals for this semester: to teach you to think outside the box."_

_"The first two spells I will teach you this year are Specialis Revelio, a basic sensory charm that detects low-level magic effects, and Finite Incantatum, which can dispel effects of a similar nature. These two charms are used almost daily by Madam Pomphrey to deal with students who have been jinxed by someone using schoolyard hexes; if you learn how to use them yourself, you won't have to be rushing off to the hospital wing for the most trivial things. As he has so kindly volunteered, Mr. Weasley will be our...test subject for the day. Mr Weasley, I hope you pay attention, because if you cannot cast both of these spells once you have been released, it will be twenty points from Gryffindor and detention tonight—in addition to the one received for your outburst earlier. Understand?" Not bothering to waste time waiting for an answer, he showed the class the wand movements for Specialis Revelio._

—_End Flashback—_

The rest of the class went well: everyone learned the two basic spells by the end of the day—even Ronald It turned out that Professor Snape was a lot better of a Defense Professor than Quirrell ever was, and their only homework was 15 cm on why the Finite Incantatum didn't work on anything but the low-level hexes and jinxes; not too bad. Every lesson since had been quite impressive; Weasley still pitched a fit just about every class, and got jinxed to his chair for his trouble—too bad he couldn't cast Finite wandless and silent.

By the time they'd finished discussing Snape's teaching style, they had arrived at Hagrid's hut, smoke billowing from the chimney. Knocking on the door, they heard the man call it "It's open!", too busy to come to the entryway. They went inside, where a smell like burnt bread and pork chops filled the room. Hagrid was busy watching his cooking cauldron like a hawk, an intimidating image ruined by the flowery cooking gloves and apron he was sporting. The only sound was the occasional cracking sound indicating that the egg was hatching.

"Almos' done," Hagrid said. "Been hearin' cracks fer hours now. Had ter drain th' thing so he don' drown gettin' out." As the cracks became more frequent, Hagrid removed the pot from the fire and carefully removed the egg inside, placing it on the table. The silent vigil continued for several minutes; all four people waiting with baited breath for the dragon to appear in the mass of broken eggshells.

Suddenly, there was a loud crack like a gunshot, as a particularly large piece of the egg flew across the room. It seemed that piece had been holding it together, since the rest of the egg quickly fell apart within seconds, revealing a slimy, scaly lizard-like creature with a half-meter wingspan and the biggest eyes any of them had ever seen. Several bumps formed a row down the dragon's spine all the way to the tip of its tail, which was covered in small bumps. Its beak-mouth protruded a bit from its skull. It looked up at Hagrid before giving a small chirping sound. It wasn't exactly pretty; Harry thought it looked like a crumpled, black umbrella. Its spiny wings were huge compared to its skinny jet body, it had a long snout with wide nostrils, the stubs of horns and bulging, orange eyes. It sneezed. A couple of sparks flew out of its snout. "Isn't he beautiful?" Hagrid murmured. He reached out a hand to stroke the dragon's head. It snapped at his fingers, showing pointed fangs.

"Oh, bless 'im, 'e knows 'is mommy," Hagrid said, crying tears of happiness. "Come 'ere little one." Reaching out, he gently picked up the little dragon, cooing over it the whole time. Cradling it in his arms, he said "Norbert. I'll call yeh Norbert."

"While I hate to interrupt this rather touching moment," Draco said, staring at little Norbert "I do believe that Norbert is actually a female dragon."

Hagrid looked closer at the tiny bundle of scales and egg slime. "Merlin, yer right...Norberta, then."

"Hagrid," Hermione asked uncertainly "What exactly do Norwegian Ridgebacks eat?"

Hagrid was about to answer, when suddenly his face went white. Going over to the window, he peered through the curtains and growled. "Someone's runnin' back up ter th' castle. I saw 'em peekin' through th' window."

"We may have to accelerate the plans," Draco said.

"We can't do that," Hermione said. "We'll just run interference for Hagrid; we can't separate him from Norbert for more than a few hours until the two weeks is up."

"Perhaps not," Harry said thoughtfully "But we'll have to be careful."

—_January 27, 1992—_

Hadrian Potter was rubbing the back of his head. He and Hermione, during today's study session in the library, had been trying to think of any way they could get one over one the Headmaster when he had casually mentioned his theft of the Philosopher's Stone—she had promptly whacked him upside the head. As he rubbed, he asked "What was that for?"

"That was for not telling me about this earlier," she hissed back. "How could you steal the Philosopher's Stone...and what does that have to do with keeping Dumbledore off our case?"

"I sent a letter to Nickolas Flamel asking him if it was true that he had entrusted his Stone to Dumbledore for safekeeping. With it, I sent a packaged vial of the Elixir of Life—all you do is squeeze it like a sponge and the stuff pours out—and he replied that he did indeed do such a thing and wanted to know why I was asking when I already knew the answer. I suggested we meet to talk about it next week to try and figure out what do about this situation. Hopefully, Mr. Flamel will get on Dumbledore's case about having lost his Stone, and Dumbledore will be too busy solving his own problems to monitor our activities." His speech finished, he returned to his book, still rubbing his head occasionally. He smiled; despite the pain he currently felt, he was glad to have Hermione back.

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him for a bit, before softening once more. Glancing around, she asked in a hushed whisper "Are you sure that everything is in place for tonight?"

"Hermione, we've been over this: I'm bringing the cloak, the Twins will be distracting any teachers that would otherwise find us, and I've practiced my Shadowmancy skills to the point that I can hide the both of us from view and shadow travel us back to our respective dorms. Neville is standing by with an alibi for me, and no one would suspect you of mischief in the first place—not purely on Weasley's word, anyway. Worst case scenario, they don't show up in time and we have to smuggle Norbert back to Hagrid's and figure out our plan from there." He paused for a second, before saying "Why are you being so quiet? No one's going to overhear us with this privacy charm—hell, it even prevents lip-reading."

Hermione flushed before replying "Force of habit; I'm always quiet in a library."

Harry gave her a small smile, before gathering his books together and canceling the spell. She did the same, and the two of them left the library, heading towards the Great Hall. Once they had arrived, they sat down at the Slytherin table and began eating. Soon after, Draco joined them with some interesting news: the Weasel had put together a plan to rat them out.

"So I was walking down the hall when I overheard the Weasel grumbling to himself," Draco said in between bites of mashed potatoes and roast beef. "He thinks that all three of us need to be knocked down a peg and that a tactical genius like him is just the person to outsmart us. He's going to let McGonagall overhear him talking about him sneaking up to the Astronomy tower on a dare; when she goes to investigate, she'll find us, or so he thinks. I had an idea on how to beat him at his own game." Swallowing, he continued "We let him overhear a plan to change location to the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Then, not only does Weasley get caught out after curfew and not us, but he spends a few hours waiting in the Forest in the dark."

Harry face took on a thoughtful look. "Lots of dangerous things living in the forest...it would be a shame if someone were to find him before McGonagall did." After a few moments contemplation, he said "How deep in the forest were you planning on sending him?"

"Just inside the edge," replied Draco. "He'll still be in danger, but will be close enough to the edge to seem afraid of going any deeper; if we send him to deep, people would actually waste time worrying about him."

Harry smiled. "Excellent..."

_Later that night..._

Ronald Weasley was just about ready to hatch his master plan: the route to Gryffindor tower would take him right past McGonagall's office, a perfect time to lay his trap for the three traitors. Right now, he was hiding behind a bookshelf, spying on Malfoy and Granger as they completed some last minute homework—Potter had rushed off to his dorm to grab his book. The only reason he hadn't already left for McGonagall's was that he needed to make sure nothing happened to threaten his plan.

Suddenly, Potter rushed in, looking flustered, he was holding his book and a letter. He quickly worked his way through the library to sit down with Hermione and Draco. He gave a couple quick glances to either side before he began whispering furiously to his two companions. Straining his ears, Ronald picked up what he was saying.

"The Astronomy tower is too regularly patrolled to use, according to Charlie," Harry said. "We have to change locations. The new meeting point is the clearing in the forest behind Hagrid's hut: it'll be a shorter trip."

"Excellent," Hermione replied. "Are there any other changes to the plan? I don't think it wise to be outside the castle for too long at night."

"Don't worry," Harry said. "There's a dozen side doors all around the castle to allow ease of access to the grounds. We'll just use one of those. After that, we—"

"Madam Pince!" Draco hissed, and all three turned back to their books.

Ronald was ecstatic! A student out of bed after curfew was one thing, but three students out of bed after curfew in the Forbidden Forest? They would be in detention for the rest of the year, maybe longer!

Suddenly, he frowned. He had forgotten about the charms he had placed in the Astronomy tower targeting the three traitors that would prevent them from leaving the area for a while—one of the twins' prank spells. He would have to reapply them in this clearing to be sure they got caught. He would have to leave soon, before—

WHAMM! A large, thick rod hit him upside the head, causing him to fall to the ground. He clutched his head and moaned from the pain. Standing over him was the librarian Madam Pince, who had banned him from the library for a month after she had caught him looking for naughty pictures in the Restricted Section.

"You again!" she hissed, mindful of where she was. "What is it this time, then? Peeking at girls through the stacks, are you?" Not bothering to wait for an answer, she whacked him with the rod on the shoulder. "Out with you, and the ban will continue until Hogwarts lets out for the summer!" Another whack, this time to the side of his knee. "If I catch you in here again before September, I'll make sure you'll wish you'd never been born!" He finally stood up and sprinted for the door when he saw where she was aiming for the next strike, all the while thinking about how the traitors would pay for putting him in that position.

As he was forced out of the library, Harry smirked at his retreating form. Turning to his friends, he said "The trap has been baited. Now we just continue with our original plan and we won't get caught."

"But Harry, what if he tries to catch us himself and goes out to the forest?" Hermione asked, worried.

"If that happens—which would require Weasley to be even dumber than we've suspected_—_no mean feat, mind you," Harry began "Hagrid would be close enough to hear his screams in time to save him. Best of all, he can't implicate us if he gets caught doing so: anyone would believe that he was just trying to pin the blame on someone else; everyone knows how he feels about us." This seemed to alleviate Hermione's concerns, as she returned to her book, humming a quiet tune.

Several hours later, Harry, Hermione, and Draco stood in front of Hagrid's hut. Making sure to check their surroundings for other people, they knocked quietly. When Hagrid answered the door, they could tell he'd been crying. Hermione immediately moved to comfort him.

"It'll be okay, Hagrid," she said, rubbing his back. "It had to be done, and you can visit Norbert anytime you want to. You know Charlie wouldn't complain about seeing you again." Draco stood by, sympathizing with the gentle giant for having to give up his baby, though he wasn't ready to hug the man for it. Harry kept silent, all the while keeping an eye on the time and their surroundings, ever watchful for pursuers. Hagrid led them outside to his garden where a huge box lay. In the box, they could hear the thrashings of Norberta as he observed his new environment.

"I-I packed 'er teddy in with 'er," Hagrid said tearfully. "Otherwise, she'd get lonely on th' trip." The sounds of ripping from inside the box told them just how much Norberta loved her teddy. "Well," Hagrid began "Goodbye...Norberta. I'll make sure te visit ye at th' reserve whenever I can. I—" he could no longer continue, breaking down in tears. Turning to the three students, he said "Thanks fer comin' ter help me keep 'er safe. I don' think I coulda managed it on me own." Hermione continued comforting him for several minutes before he eventually went inside.

When Hermione returned from the hut, the three of them took their positions. Hermione used Locomotor Mortis on the crate, while Harry Disillusioned and Silenced it. Next, Harry took out his cloak and covered the three of them with it; He took out the Marauder's Map and activated it, allowing them as much warning as they needed to avoid any teachers, prefects, or Filch. Harry noted with some amusement that near their current position somewhere in the forest was a pair of dots labeled 'Ronald Weasley' and 'Peter Pettigrew'.

Moving out, they approached the side of the castle and Harry activated one of the secret side entrances not known to many people that led up to the second floor, bypassing the three prefects on the ground floor. Once on the other side, they made their way towards the staircase up. This part would be tricky, as the third floor was being constantly patrolled by teachers making sure Voldemort did not make another attempt to steal the Stone. They had two close calls: one with McGonagall, who nearly ran into the crate rounding a corner, and with Professor Sinestra, who was too close to the staircase leading up to the fourth floor to slip past. As the minutes ticked by, she eventually shifted position just enough for the trio to slip by.

Once on the fourth floor, they searched around for the shortcut that would lead them all the way to the base of the Astronomy tower on the seventh floor that was hidden behind a tapestry depicting all the zodiac animals sitting as if at a table that looked like the Earth. They arrived and, after checking the map, began carefully moving up the steep staircase, ever mindful of their footing. Once they reached the balcony at the top of the tower, Harry cast the Tempus spell; it was 11:49 pm. As the minutes ticked by, they began to see an indistinct shape approaching the tower out of the horizon. As it got closer, it took the shape of four mounted brooms with a harness in between them.

The four landed on the balcony and began looking around for the students. Harry quickly dropped the charms and took off the cloak; Hermione set down the box. The four broom riders talked for a few minutes, asking them about Norberta's habits and diet; Harry referred them to Hermione, who had been keeping track of that stuff. After a while, the four dragon handlers took off, Norberta's box secured in the harness. "Alright," Harry whispered, as they watched the makeshift dragon carrier fly away, "Let's get out of here." The others agreed, and they headed for the stairs down, Harry pulling out the cloak and the map. When they reached the first step, however, their feet were stuck, as if glued to the stair.

Harry, seeing that Filch was heading up the tower at the moment, threw the cloak over them and began analyzing the spell keeping them in place; he would have asked Hermione for help, but she seemed to be panicking—Draco was faring no better. Harry cast the Aura Analysis Spell on the stair to figure out what the spell did. It didn't look good: the spell, while complex, appeared easy to cast, and was designed to resist removal. It activated the second time someone keyed to the spell entered the area and, once activated, kept them from moving from the area for a long period of time. Seeing as their feet were stuck in place, it was likely the spell had been placed on just the one stair, otherwise they would have been able to move around a bit.

Hadrian's keen observation skills and knowledge of magic found a weakness: the spell prevented linear movement out of the area of effect, but wouldn't affect Apparition, Portkeys, or similar extra-dimensional movement—including his shadow travel. Glancing back at the Marauder's Map, he saw that Filch had almost reached them—and Mrs. Norris was with him. Harry knew the cloak couldn't fool her nose, so she'd be sure to find them. He thought to himself _"I'm not good enough at Shadow Travel to transport all three of us or to make three trips before Filch gets here."_

Noticing a shadow coming around the bend in the staircase, he focused and cast three spells as fast as he could: an obscure Silencing Charm on Draco and Hermione, along with a time-released Petrification spell, and an extra-strength Silencing spell on himself. He stuffed the Map in his pocket and got out from under the cloak just as Filch came into view.

From the caretaker's point of view, the student sitting before him seemed very bored, his head supported by his arm as he leaned to one side. "Well, well, well," he muttered to himself, knowing what most students thought of him. "What do we have here? A student out of bounds at midnight, and in the Astronomy Tower, no less? Quite forbidden, isn't it, Mrs. Norris?"

"Well, have you got anything to say for yourself, boy?" he said, his question almost spat out at the boy in front of him. Harry attempted to reply, only to fail on account of the Silencing Spell he had cast. "Not talking, eh?" Filch sneered. "Come on then: we're going straight to Professor Snape, you brat." The caretaker stooped down, grabbed him by the underarms, and attempted to pull him to his feet, only to topple forward himself. Harry noted that the spell couldn't be overwhelmed with pure physical strength. As the caretaker pulled himself up off the ground, he glared at Harry.

"So you've magicked yourself in place, huh? I'll get Snape myself, he'll be able to solve this little problem. Mrs. Norris," he said to the cat, which seemed to spring to attention. "Guard him while I'm gone." With that, the cantankerous caretaker shuffled off back into the shadows, muttering under his breath about corkscrews and ankle-chains. As Filch walked away, his cat took up a stance, as if watching everything he was doing. He stared right back at her, meeting the feline move for move. By the time Filch had returned with Professor Snape in tow, they were treated to the sight of the unthinkable: a purring Mrs. Norris was being pet by a student.

Said student looked up at the two of them, startled. He stared at them until Filch sputtered "What've you done now, boy? Bewitched my cat, have you? Oh, I'll get you now, you aren't getting out of this."

He made to continue, but Snape spoke up: "If I may interrupt, Argus, I shall undo the spells so that he may be questioned properly." Waving his wand, only for nothing to happen (Harry once more tried to speak or remove his feet from the step, only to fail), he frowned, then tried another, more complicated-looking spell, based on the wand movements. Sure enough, the spell was successful, and Harry could speak and move once more.

Schooling his features, he said "Firstly, I wish to apologize to you, Mr. Filch for wasting your time with my predicament, and thank you for retrieving someone to free me; I have no doubts that I would have been stuck for several more hours before I was discovered." If possible, this seemed to shock the caretaker more than his cat letting a student pet her. Harry turned to Professor Snape and said "I was leaving the library to head for the common room and, as I turned the corner, I was hit with a spell from behind. The next thing I remember is waking up with my feet spelled to the floor and a Silencing Spell cast on my person. Unfortunately, I could not identify my assailant and the person responsible will likely go unpunished."

Snape looked at him, one eyebrow raised; Hadrian met his gaze and stared back resolutely. Finally, the Professor said "The spell keeping you in place is one usually used by the Weasley twins, and generally lasts several hours unless removed. I do not think your friends would have done this to you, particularly since we already caught them going at their usual shenanigans around the same time you say you were cursed. So who actually cast the spell, I wonder?"

"Actually, Professor," Filch said, a grin crossing his face, "I might know who did it. About an hour or so ago, I found the youngest Weasley boy hanging from a tree in the forest near Hagrid's hut, yelling about getting his revenge on Potter. I think maybe his brothers taught him the spell, and he used it to keep Potter here to be found. If he did it, we can find out easily."

"An excellent plan, Argus," Snape said. "And where is the boy right now? Getting chewed out by McGonagall?"

Filch's grin got even wider. "Actually, he's still hanging in that tree. I asked Hagrid what to do about it and he said the centaurs would find him and cut him down to get their rope back. He said he'd keep an eye on the little brat to make sure he doesn't get eaten."

Snape raised an eyebrow at that, but said "Very well. Potter, I assume you can find your way back to the common room without causing any more trouble?"

"Yes sir," Harry nodded, his face as blank as ever.

"Good. I'm sure Mr. Malfoy is anxious to know where you are. Goodnight Mr. Potter." With that, the Potions master swept down the stairs, his cloak flowing behind him. Filch followed him, after giving Harry a questioning look. Harry watched as they descended down the stairs, then shadow-traveled Hermione and Draco to his room one at a time before going back to the tower. He calmly walked back to the Slytherin common room, deliberately taking the long route so as to give his friends time to cool off after his spell wore off. As he entered his room, a pillow hit him in the face. When it was pulled away, he saw a sheepish Draco standing behind an angry, pillow-wielding Hermione.

"Harry James Potter!" she yelled, knowing his room was warded to be silent and not caring whether she woke anyone up besides. "Of all the stupid, reckless things you've done this year—"

"This one worked out the best," Harry interrupted. "It was all I could come up with on the spot. And it worked brilliantly, if I do say so myself."

But Hermione was not to be deterred so easily. "That doesn't matter! You lied to Professor Snape, and tricked both of them! How is that 'working brilliantly'?" she exclaimed, still fuming.

"Well," Harry said, "Professor Snape knows that they wouldn't have found us if we hadn't gotten stuck. The first rule in Slytherin house is don't get caught, and for the last several years, the other three houses have been against the Slytherins for the most part; he's had to help them out occasionally. That's all he was doing tonight: helping a Slytherin not get caught. Of course, he only does it for first and second years, then they're expected to be able to handle themselves."

"That's not very fair for the other houses," Hermione said. "If they get caught, they get in trouble. McGonagall would never go easy on her students, and Professor Sprout—"

"Actually, Hermione," Draco interrupted, "Professor McGonagall is kind of biased towards her own house: The book on the stand in the Great Hall records all crimes, misdemeanors, and punishments that take place in the castle, who carried them out, and who gave out the punishment. If you look, when Gryffindors are caught out after curfew, they generally lose 10 or 20 points, occasionally 50 if what they were doing endangered other students—of course, she never gives out uneven punishments if students from multiple houses are present. But if you look, Hufflepuffs lose 20, 30, and 50, respectively, Ravenclaw loses 40 or 50, and Slytherin loses 50 if she can't prove what they were doing is dangerous, and 100 if she can."

"Professor Sprout is the same way with her 'Puffs," Harry spoke up. "Not as obvious as McGonagall is, but she still favors her own house, while giving Slytherin the shaft."

"Okay, but Professor Flitwick isn't biased towards Ravenclaw, right?" Hermione asked.

"From what I've heard, Professor Flitwick isn't very involved in his Head of House duties at all," Harry said. "Professor Dumbledore holds several high-maintenance positions in the Wizarding world, and ends up delegating several of the Headmaster's duties to McGonagall. She is the teacher of one of the core subjects, the Gryffindor Head of House and, as Deputy Headmistress, has to deal with whatever Professor Dumbledore doesn't have the time to do himself." He paused for a second in thought. "That may be why her classes always have all four houses in them; she doesn't have the time to take them on even two at a time."

"Regardless, she usually delegates to Professor Flitwick because he's the least biased teacher and the most trustworthy professor. He has to organize all the clubs and Hogsmeade trips, not to mention he runs the choir and Charms club. He ends up delegating the enforcement of rules in Ravenclaw to the prefects who, since the Ravens are, for the most part, very well-behaved, don't warrant much supervision. Those three Heads of House are all biased against Slytherin more than any other House, which is why Professor Snape looks out for us whenever he can." He noted that Hermione looked shaken at the revealed corruption of the school's house points system. "If it makes you feel better, I'll tell Professor Snape the whole story tomorrow after Potions, okay?" She nodded, still thinking about the bias her Professors practiced; it appeared to have shaken her belief in authority quite a bit.

"To be honest, I'm more surprised that Mrs. Norris let you pet her," Draco said. "How'd you manage that?"

Harry didn't answer verbally, he just gave his odd half-grin as Cheshire appeared over his left shoulder sporting a matching grin. Once the odd feline had disappeared once more, he said "Alright, let's get to bed everyone; we have class in the morning, and I'm very tired. Hermione, do you want a lift back to the Gryff tower?" She nodded and held out her hand. He grasped it, and the two of the melded into the shadows. Draco watched as they left, then left the room, taking care to close the door behind him.

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><p>A.N.: Well there you have it: Norberta is safe and Ronald Weasley is hanging from a tree in a centaur trap. Hermione's back to normal and Harry's Other Him is a beast out of legend. Next chapter holds an interesting meeting for Hadrian and a surprise for Hermione. Please R&amp;R!<p> 


	7. Detention In The Forbidden Forest

A.N.: Hello, I'm back with a new chapter. It's shorter than the last one, but then, the last one was my longest one yet, so that's not saying much. This one has action, adventure, and even a little romance! Okay, so it also has Ron Weasley in it, which almost ruins that other stuff. But don't worry: I'm going to be fixing that problem permanently sometime in the future when he loses his usefulness. I only own this particular story plot, not the characters or the world they live in: those things belong to J. K. Rowling. Read and review, otherwise I can't improve it!

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><p>Chapter 6: Detention In The Forbidden Forest<p>

—_January 31, 1992—_

Hadrian Potter was not in the best mood at the moment: Professor Snape had sought him out Tuesday morning to deliver grave news. According to the Potions Master, the esteemed Headmaster had assigned him detention for his activities the night before—not for being out of bounds, after all he had an excuse. No, he had detention for telling Weasley a pair of fabrications, the first being a ridiculous story about Hagrid raising a dragon in his hut and the subsequent plan to sneak it out of the castle, and the second being about the location of the meeting place changing. According to Dumbledore, Harry had placed young Mr. Weasley in danger for allowing him to overhear both stories, which resulted in him heading into the Forbidden Forest.

So now Harry had lost Slytherin house 50 points and had detention on Friday.

At midnight.

In the forest.

With Ronald Weasley.

Neville Longbottom would also be serving this detention: apparently, he had been found out of bounds trying to warn Harry and Hermione about Ron's antics. What's more, all of Harry's arguments with the headmaster regarding the detention, despite being well-worded and logical (even the portraits of Heads of Hogwarts past had thought so), the Headmaster was unwilling to lift the detention—actually, the only problem was that his counter-suggestion was that if Hadrian didn't get detention, then neither would Ronald. Harry wasn't that desperate to get out of the detention, so he knuckled under and prepared. as best he could for the dangers he knew lay within. Harry consoled himself with the fact that neither Draco nor Hermione had gotten detention for helping set up Ron. As for his detention, all he knew was that he would be in the forest with the two Gryffindor boys and Hagrid, probably the only thing about the entire situation that made him feel better.

The rest of the week had been spent with Harry tearing through the library with Hermione for information on the forest inhabitants during the day and exploring the Forbidden Forest at night as the Other—no, in his Reaper Animagus Form. He had been making an effort to make the distinction, if only in his mind. He had discovered the location of the centaur tribe—they had been less than pleased with his sudden appearance, if the panicked screaming and attempts to riddle him with arrows were any indication—as well as the location of an Acromantula colony that may very well break records. Harry had a sinking feeling that Hagrid was somehow involved with that, and made a mental note to ask him about it sometime.

The most interesting discovery he had made on his nightly sojourns was a large meadow on the far side of the lake. It was only 100 m or so into the forest if you followed the shoreline to the end of the lake opposite Hogwarts (it was right near where they lead the first years to the boats), and the only other way to get there would be to travel through both the Acromantula colony—it was a very, very large nest, after all—and to also travel through a section of the forest claimed by a vampire coven living deep in the Forbidden Forest. The meadow was a rough circle about 250 m in diameter in shape, was covered in tall, healthy grass, and was teaming with wildlife of all kinds.

In the very middle sat a tall tree that towered above everything around it: even the other trees were dwarfed in comparison. Harry couldn't even guess how tall it was: its trunk looked to be several meters in diameter itself and seemed to have become a home for all kinds of wildlife. Both the tree and the meadow seemed supernatural, however, each for their own reasons: first, the tree, despite the distance, should have been visible from the castle, or even the shoreline, and yet, it disappeared when he got too far from the meadow. What's more, the sudden appearance and disappearance of a tree easily twice as tall as the tallest trees in the forest went unnoticed until he was specifically looking for it. The meadow was odd in that, so long as he was in his Reaper Animagus form, he couldn't enter it.

As soon as he turned back into his human form, he could enter the meadow. As he made his way towards the tree, he noticed that, while there were many kinds of prey wandering through the meadow, there were also a few predators: there were a few Scottish wildcats lounging about, and a bugbear napping at the base of the tree. Despite that, nothing was attacking anything else; now that he thought about it, Harry realized that the meadow seemed to almost radiate peaceful feelings to him, as if he'd always be safe here.

When he arrived at the base of the tree, he found several animals resting in the shade of its afternoon shadow, which stretched almost to the edge of the meadow. He noticed that the tree was infested with Bowtruckles, although none of them bothered any of the animals. As he got closer, he felt the same feeling of peacefulness as before. He felt the urge to sit down and take a nap: he almost did, but thinking, he quickly put up an Occlumency shield and the urge disappeared almost immediately. As he turned to leave, he almost missed a small shift in the bark pattern near eye level: it almost appeared as if a perplexed face had appeared in the bark, not quite carved, but a faint pattern suggesting a face. It was the movement that caught his attention; the pattern had changed. Pretending not to have noticed but making a mental note of it, he made his way out of the meadow back into the forest.

That night, near the end of dinner, Hermione came over to talk with him. They talked about their various classes and other mundane subjects, and eventually she told him to make sure he stays safe. She almost seemed to hesitate before leaving, although thinking back on it, he wasn't quite sure if he'd seen it at all.

Later that night, after the common room had long since emptied, the secret door opened and in walked Filch, followed by a pair of Gryffindors. The old man was gripping a spray bottle and, rather than offering his usual sneer, almost looked nervous. "Come on, then, Potter, I'm to escort you three to Hagrid's for the night. Don't know what you'll be doin', but it shouldn't be too dangerous." Harry only nodded, and stood to follow the man.

Neville, during this exchange, was glancing around nervously, as if expecting someone to jump out and grab them. Ron, meanwhile, was busy just glaring at Harry. Without a word, the four of them left the common room. The walk down to Hagrid's hut was long, silent, and awkward. After a while, Ron began speaking to fill the silence.

"This is all your fault, Potter. If it weren't for you, I wouldn't be in this mess, and I wouldn't be going into the forest at midnight."

"Very well, I'm sorry—" Harry began.

"If you think a simple apology is going to—" Weasley interrupted.

"I'm sorry I forced you to eavesdrop on two private conversations between me and my friends and then forced you to walk out into the forest alone at midnight that night, and for then luring you into a rope trap that caused you to get stuck. Of course, that would be pretty difficult, even for me, to set up considering I was nowhere near you at the time all of that happened." Ron was staring at him with a confused look.

Harry sighed slightly. "Honestly, do you not understand sarcasm? Weasley, I am not responsible for the consequences of your decisions. You decided to listen in on private conversations. You decided to try to catch us yourself. You decided to go out to the forest at midnight all alone. So when you got trapped there, found, and assigned detention, you can't blame me for the decisions you made when the consequences of your decisions catch up with you." Turning to face the other boy, he said "Neville, I'm genuinely sorry you got caught up on all of this."

"Th-thanks, Harry," the pudgy boy said, stuttering. "I appreciate it—although, I'm still not wanting to go into the forest."

"It's still all your fault," Weasley muttered.

Before a response could be uttered, Filch spoke up. "We've arrived; save the conversation for after detention." Walking up to the hut, he knocked sharply three times and waited. After a few moments, the door opened and revealed Hagrid dressed up in a thick leather chestpiece with his bulky overcoat on top, wielding a crossbow and his dog Fang waiting at his side. "Thanks fer bringin' 'em, Filch. I'll take 'em from here," the man said. Filch nodded and left quickly without a word.

Hagrid turn to them and said "Alrigh', so fer detention, you three are gonna help me track somethin' down. Abou' a week ago, I woke up to find a unicorn covered in scratches and bruises outside me hut. Some o' it's wounds were too deep ter be accidental; looked like somethin' with claws had taken a swipe at it an' hit. The same thing happened jus' yesterday. Somethin's preyin' on 'em and I can't cover th' whole forest meself quickly enough ter find what's doin' it. I don' expect you three to found it, but any clues or signs you could give me will speed up th' process."

"Hold on," Weasley said, white as a sheet "Are you gonna send us into the forest on our own?"

"Scared, Weasley?" Harry asked in his usual monotone.

"Enough," Hagrid said. "I ain't sendin' anyone in alone. One o' you'll be comin' with me, the other two will go with Fang. The forest is a dangerous place, but only a few things deep in th' forest will mess with yeh if yer with me or Fang."

"I'll take Fang then," Ron said quickly.

"Alrigh' then," Hagrid said "Who's comin' with me?"

Neville spoke up. "I'd feel more comfortable going with you, Mr. Hagrid, if it's not a problem."

Hagrid glanced at the boy before saying "'S'no problem. Harry, yer with Ron an' Fang, then."

If possible, Ron turned even paler. "I'm not going anywhere with him," he said shakily.

Hagrid frowned. "If tha's how yeh want it, yeh'll go alone." Ron scowled before agreeing to go with Harry.

And so it began. They wandered into the forest as one big group and split off when the path did: Hagrid warned them to stick to the path as much as possible. As they travelled through the forest, they kept an eye out for signs of unicorns—or at least, Hadrian did. Ron just spent the whole time alternating between glaring at Harry and glancing nervously around the forest. After a while, he spoke up.

"Why aren't you freaking out, huh?" Ron asked indignantly. "We're in the forest at midnight with nothing but some mangy mutt standing between us and certain death, and you're standing there like it's nothing! What is wrong with you?!"

Harry arched an eyebrow at him. "I just don't show my emotions unless necessary. Besides, nothing this close to the edge of the forest is going to attack us, much less kill us. You would have to go much deeper into the forest to come across anything that would feel like messing with us."

"What about werewolves? They could go anywhere in the forest," Weasley said, his voice tinged with a hint of panic.

Harry rolled his eyes while making a mental note of the strands of unicorn hair he'd just spotted. "Weasley, the Ministry keeps track of werewolves and doesn't allow them near Hogwarts without special permissions. Besides, it's not even the full moon, so all we'd meet, if we were to come across a werewolf is an ordinary man." At this, Ronald flushed angrily at having not thought of such an idea." There is some guy living in a small shack about a dozen kilometers in who might be a werewolf, but he's not going to bother anyone."

"Now, there is a vampire coven deep in the forest—"

"Va-va-vampires?" Ron said, his face turning white as a sheet as his voice rose a few octaves. "How is that safe?"

Harry frowned, then continued. "As I said, there's a vampire coven deep in the forest, but they can't leave the protection of the woods during the day because they'd burn up. At night, they can range all over the forest and even the grounds, but they can't stay out there past sunrise and can't enter Hogwarts without an invitation from one of the Professors. That's probably one of the reasons the forest is forbidden in the first place, and also why the curfew is enforced after the sun sets."

"I still don't see how it's safe to be here right now," Ronald said, looking every which way for vampires.

"Weasley," Hadrian began, a lecturing tone crawling into his voice "Both the Ministry and the Professors know about the coven. If a student were to go missing, and Hagrid later found their blood-drained corpse in the forest, Aurors would gather together, probably with the Professors assisting, and would wipe the coven out of existence. They don't dare attack students, even on the off-chance they actually see one."

"As for the other groups in the forest, the centaurs are very insular from what I've heard, but they won't attack us—in fact, should we get in trouble , they'll likely help us out. That being said, the Ministry doesn't do them any favors and restricts them to certain areas, so it might eventually get to the point where they become more hostile."

"The only other really dangerous group is the Acromantula nest. It's almost right in the center of the forest and covers a large area. That being said, the average-sized ones, each about the size of a chair, bring in enough food to feed the entire horde, leaving the minuscule ones and the largest ones back at the nest." As Harry finished his mini-lesson, he noticed Ron seemed even worse than before. "What's the matter? Don't like spiders?"

Before Ronald could reply, Harry stopped and pointed to a small puddle on the ground. "Unicorn blood." They stooped down to get a better look; Harry used a Lumos to get some light. "Shines in the light, check. Slightly transparent, check," Harry said. He dipped one finger into the puddle and lifted it up, observing the fluid's reaction. "Flows and feels like syrup, check."

"So, it's definitely Unicorn blood?" Weasley asked.

Harry looked thoughtful. "I think so. If I remember right, the only sure way to tell is to taste it. I'm not doing it, though, it's supposed to be very nasty."

"I'll do it," Ron volunteered, and before Harry could say anything else, he scooped some up and took a sip. He got a weird look on his face before saying "It's not that bad actually."

Harry shrugged, inwardly smirking. "I could be remembering wrong, then. Look, there's another puddle," he said, pointing to some silvery lquid puddle just a few feet off the trail.

"So what?" Ron asked.

"Well, the two spots are too close to each other and too large to be random drops. It means that a recently injured unicorn passed by here not long ago."

"Well then, what're we waiting for?" Ron asked. "Let's go find it!" And with that, he bounded off into the forest, following the trail of blood. Harry cursed before running after him: if the idiot died, he'd be in even more trouble!

After a few minutes of jogging through the forest, Ron had to slow down or risk running into a tree—that, and he was starting to tire out. Harry and Fang caught up to him and they continued following the trail they had found. In one of the puddles, they found a small footprint, indicating that perhaps some small child was chasing the unicorn. What's more, the path seemed to haphazardly twist and turn through the trees and over rocks and boulders, a workout for a large quadruped, but hell for a small biped, as Harry and Ron discovered. After a few more minutes, they came across a small clearing in the woods: in the center lay the unicorn mare they had been following. Suddenly, Ron screamed and pointed at a figure on the other side of the clearing.

It looked like a little girl, perhaps seven or eight years years old. Her hair was long, flowing down past her shoulders halfway down her back and was so pitch black, it almost blended perfectly into the shadowy background of the trees. Her clothes were simple, made of a dark cloth of some sort, and appeared to be made with freedom of movement in mind; they were torn in several places as if by branches. Her skin was so pale, it seemed to glow in the dim light coming from Harry's wand and, unlike her garments, was completely unmarked. Her features bore the sharpness seen among nobility, a certain shape of face that conveyed a sense of superiority. Harry knew exactly why Ron was frightened: this was a vampire child, and she was staring right at them. While normally, a vampire's eyes were its most captivating feature, right now her eyes were a solid black, as if the pupil was fully dilated. But that only happened when a vampire had been deprived of blood too long and had given into their instincts.

"Alright," Harry said quietly. "Ron, if we run, she won't chase us, she'll just go for the unicorn. If we stay and fight, we might not win and get drained before help can arrive. I'm staying. What are you doing?" he turned to where Weasley had previously been, only to find himself with only Fang for company; he could hear something crashing through the bushes behind him, and occasionally a thud followed by a slight yelp. "Perfect," Harry muttered turning back towards the clearing.

The vampire seemed confused, as if fighting itself. Harry knew its dilemma: there was easy to get blood spilling out of the unicorn already, but unicorn blood, consumed without consent, resulted in a cursed existence. On the other hand, she could try and subdue him and drink his blood, but she was already tiring, he could see she was almost gasping for breath between chasing the unicorn and the constant hunger. He kept his wand at his side, ready to cast the only defensive spell Quirrell had ever taught them: a spell that simulated sunlight and was used as a defensive measure against vampires.

The child looked at him, and suddenly his world exploded as his scar seemed to burst into flames, it hurt so bad. He was dimly aware of the girl collapsing before he heard a voice in his head. _"Harry Potter...the Boy-Who-Lived...your presence here shook my control over the dark child there...her will was too strong to be forced into drinking unicorn blood unless it was the only way to survive. But you showed up and provided an alternative...I need that blood, and I think your will the easier to break." _As the voice finished, the pain that had subsided while it went on returned at full power, causing Harry to fall to his knees.

Entering his newly-discovered mindscape, Harry saw a great darkness seeping over his entire being, encompassing his magical core, mind, and spirit, all seeming to come from the breach that represented his scar, where the black line lead off into space. That black line was now pulsing with power. Harry struggled to push back the darkness, but it was too powerful for him. He retreated into his mind looking for some way to drive it back.

Suddenly, his magical core gave off a shockwave of magic so powerful it pushed back the darkness. A golden shield tinged with red surrounded his entire being and began growing, forcing the darkness to recede back through the link. Once it was all gone, Harry found himself returned to reality, only to see the girl standing up, moving like a puppet on strings. She staggered towards him and tried to latch onto him, only to recoil as if burned. A dark aura surrounded her, the same darkness he had just fought in his mind. It forced her forward with unnatural speed to try again at subduing him.

Time froze. Hadrian didn't know what to do. Suddenly, an instinct he didn't know he had reacted, making his body move to intercept hers. Quite suddenly, the little vampire was pinned in place. As she struggled, he ignored the burning in his muscles from the effort and leaned down towards her. In one quick motion, he seized her mouth in a kiss.

Later, Harry found out that it is has been observed that an Animagus often develops powers based on their forms: most forms simply enhanced the witches' or wizards' senses exponentially, especially if it was one their form was particularly strong in. As Harry kissed the vampire girl, the same instinct caused him to start sucking. And something was coming out. He nearly had...whatever it was when they were forced apart as a dark spirit like the one he'd seen come out of Quirrell burst from her head.

The dark aura disappeared from around her and she collapsed to the ground once more. Harry was quite exhausted himself, but made his way over to the unicorn and began trying the handful of basic healing spells he had picked up either in the library or in the hospital wing from Madame Pomphrey. He sighed in relief as the wounds closed and the unicorn shakily got to its feet. It nuzzled him before limping off into the woods.

As Harry prepared to leave, he paused, looking at the body on the ground. The girl was still moving, trying to crawl to the puddle of blood still on the ground where the unicorn had lay. He stared, conflicted, for a moment, before making up his mind. He walked over to her and helped her up. She stared at him, her struggle with her instincts still evident in her eyes. Her resistance crumbled, however,when he tugged down one side of his collar and bared his neck to her. She hesitated for only a moment before latching on.

At first, it felt like he'd been stabbed in the neck for the first second or so, but after that, it didn't hurt like he'd expected; it was almost like a mild bee sting was throbbing where she'd bit him. Much sooner than expected, she withdrew, looking more in control, but still quite exhausted. "Thank you," she said in a quiet, breathless voice, before fainting dead away. Harry picked her up and carried her back to the path, Fang trotting at his side. Harry made sure his collar would hide the mark; although it should disappear in a few days, he didn't want to take a chance of someone seeing it, or they'd get the wrong idea.

Some fifteen minutes later, he was walking down the path when he came across two beings. The first was the unicorn he had saved, bearing several bandages and looking much better than before; they only snorted once upon seeing the figure in his arms, but did not otherwise object to her presence. The second figure was a young centaur male he had seen roaming the forest from time to time. The centaur approached him and said "Harry Potter. The forest is not safe for students. Especially not now, and especially not for you. Why are you here?"

Harry responded "I and two other students were assigned detention. The one I was partnered with left me to die as soon as he saw her," he indicated the vampire girl. "May I know your name?" he asked.

The centaur stared at the girl, his eyebrows rising for a moment. "I am called Firenze. You are not safe here; I shall return you to Hagrid." Here, he hesitated. "It would be faster to ride, but I do not think I could carry you both."

Harry agreed, conflicted on what to do. Then he looked over at the recently healed unicorn who, while shorter than Firenze because of his human torso, was much bigger otherwise. As he looked at it, it cocked its head at him, before turning to the side, as if inviting him. Voicing his idea, he said "Carry her, and make sure she doesn't fall; if allowed, I will ride the unicorn." Firenze's eyes widened at this idea and began to protest Harry's riding a unicorn. By the time he'd finished, Harry had placed the girl on Firenze's back and successfully mounted the unicorn without incident.

And so they set off; Firenze leading with the vampire girl, Hadrian and the unicorn following, with Fang bringing up the rear. During their journey, they did not notice a pair of centaurs watching from the shadows, who began conversing nervously after the five had passed them. After a while, they met up with Hagrid, Neville, and Ron, who turned pale when he saw the girl on Firenze's back. Hagrid tensed and raised his crossbow as if to shoot her.

"OI! What's this about, Potter? That...that...thing tried to kill us!"

Harry rolled his eyes as he dismounted. "Weasley, that statement is almost entirely incorrect. First, she is not a thing, she is a person. Secondly, while she did attack, she was not responsible for her actions; do you remember what happened to Quirrell?" Receiving an affirmative, he continued. "Well the same thing happened to her a little while ago: some dark spirit flew out of her and through me. I didn't feel much of anything, but it had the same look to it. The third thing wrong with your statement is the use of the word 'us'. I stayed in the clearing to defend the unicorn. So did Fang. But you? No, you were running away screaming before she'd done any more than just look in our direction."

Ronald was turning red in the face by this point, a common sight during a conversation between him and Harry. "Listen here, you slimy snake, that bloodthirsty monster would have killed you if I hadn't gone for help! You owe me."

"In case you weren't paying any attention whatsoever, Weasley, that girl you're calling a 'bloodthirsty monster' is currently unconscious and has been so since about five minutes after you ran off. The fight in the clearing, the sudden cut off from being possessed, and the blood starvation must have gotten to her all at once. I owe you nothing; I didn't need help from anybody in that fight, and certainly not from you. A good thing, too: if I hadn't been able to handle the situation myself, I would have been drained of blood long before you could have found me."

"It would've been an improvement, if you ask me," Ronald retorted.

"Enough!" Hagrid shouted, causing the girl to stir. He fished into one of the pockets of his coat and pulled out a pair of vials. Handing one to Harry and the other to Firenze, he said "Drink up, you two, then we'll figure out what to do from here." Shrugging, Harry uncorked vial and drained it, while Firenze did the same. He waited a moment to see what would happen.

After several seconds, he still couldn't determine the potion's effects, and said so. Hagrid looked relieved and said "Alrigh' then, what happened, Harry? We found him runnin' through th' fores'. When we asked 'im what happened, he said yeh got eaten by a vampire. Now we find you travelin' on th' back o' a unicorn with Firenze and a vampire ter boot."

Harry explained "We were going through the woods, looking for signs of the unicorn or whatever's been hunting them—"

"And it was her!" Ron pointed an accusatory finger at the girl, who stirred at the noise, drawing a whimper from Ron as he dashed behind Hagrid.

Harry sighed, then continued: "We had found several tufts of unicorn hair stuck in bushes when we found a small puddle of silvery blood. It looked fresh, and there was another such puddle several feet away. We followed the trail until we reached a clearing where the unicorn lay; it looked like it had lost too much blood to continue on. Across the clearing was her—" he indicated the vampire "And when she saw us, Ron screamed and ran off. She looked nearly starved of blood, which makes sense if she was desperate enough to drink unicorn blood. I threw that spell Quirrell taught us a few times to keep her away from the unicorn, but then she came for me."

"When she got closer, she managed to get a hold of me. I don't know why, but suddenly she released me and fell to the ground, shrieking. Then, a dark, ghost-like thing flew out of her; when it did, she collapsed to the ground, unconscious. I healed the unicorn with a few spells, giving it enough temporary blood to function again and it ran off. I believe Firenze found it, patched it up further, and it led him to me. When he arrived, Firenze said I needed to get back to the group and the five of us rode back here."

Hagrid nodded, glancing at the girl. "Firenze," he said "Do yeh think yeh could take 'er back to 'em? I should get these kids back inside now th' problem's dealt with."

The centaur nodded. "I shall return her to her people before sunrise. Take care, Harry Potter. Remember the woods are not safe right now."

As he prepared to leave, Hagrid asked "Firenze, th' girl...is tha' Sable?"

Firenze paused. "I believe so, yes. Good night, Hagrid." And with that, the pair took off. The unicorn nuzzled Harry one last time before it took off in a different direction.

As the three figures disappeared into the night, Hagrid said distractedly "Best be returnin' t' th' castle now. We've had a more eventful night than I expected. 'S'a good thing you did, Harry, healin' th' unicorn. Helpin' th' girl, too, 'though some would disapprove." He shot a look at Ron, he chose to remain silent for the moment. The tired quintet returned to Hagrid's hut, where Filch was waiting with his spray bottle. He escorted the three of them back to their common rooms. Once they were gone, Harry made his way to his bedroom, where Hermione and Draco were waiting for a report of how detention went.

As he opened his door, he found a very calm Hermione and a snarling, red in the face Draco sitting on the floor each holding several cards. To Hermione's right was a sizeable pile of coins; to Draco's left was a money bag he kept reaching into to pull out more money and put into the pile between them. Since the pile in the middle was quite large, Harry decided not to say anything.

Draco looked at his cards again, before triumphantly laying them down. "Hah! All hearts! A flush!" He looked at Hermione, smirking. "Well? What do you have?"

Hermione laid her cards down calmly, showing three aces and a pair of deuces. "Full house. I win again."

Draco screamed in rage and threw the deck across the room as Hermione raked in her profits. Once finished, she waved her wand, causing the deck to flow back into a pile in front of her. She began to sort them into suit and order when she noticed Harry. "Harry, you're back!" She stood and came over to him, enveloping him in a hug. "How'd detention go?"

"Put it back," Harry said.

"Er...what?" she asked, puzzled.

"Not you," Harry said, looking at her. Looking over her shoulder, he said "Yes, you. Put it back. She earned it all fair and square, to the best of my knowledge."

Hermione turned around to see Draco with his hands buried in Hermione's stack of winnings. Scowling Draco removed his hands and, when they had made sure he wasn't sneaking a few up his sleeves, Harry helped Hermione gather her winnings before telling them what had transpired during his detention in the forest. By the end of his story, both of his friends were staring at him incredulously; Draco had even stopped trying to pick Hermione's pockets.

"Harry," Hermione said slowly "Have you finally gone all the way around the bend?" He stared at her, not entirely surprised by her reaction.

But she wasn't done yet. "I mean, not only did you face down Vol—You-Know-Who alone, but after a miracle allowed you to reject his mental probe—one thing he was infamous for was breaking minds—but then, in an attempt to actually temporarily drive him away, you attempted to perform the Dementor's Kiss on a vampire, despite never having used that ability before...did you not consider that, if you had succeeded, you would have drawn his soul into yourself, where he could take control of you? And finally, after you got lucky again and he ran away, you allowed...the vampire girl to drink from you. You could have died! And then you brought her with you back to Hagrid? What were you thinking?"

Throughout the entire rant, Harry stayed silent; she did, after all, have several good points and besides, she deserved to vent every once in awhile. When a good spot to jump in presented itself, however, he did so: "I understand how you feel, but I would remind you that things are harder to make so clear cut at the moment of occurrence, allowing for lapses of judgement. How about I go over each of your points and present my reasoning. I will answer any questions you two may have. First, however, I would ask you, Draco, what your opinion of all this is."

Hermione turned towards Draco, her arms crossed, a frown gracing her face. Draco responded "While the gaze of death is not actually a factor, I do agree with her, Harry: this sounds like the dumbest moves you've pulled here at Hogwarts."

Harry gave a small chuckle, before saying "I figured that would be it; just wanted to be fair. I believe your first problem with my chosen actions is not running when I had the chance. It may seem stupid, but I wasn't going to run until after Weasley did. By the time I'd realized he'd long since run away, it was too late to try running myself. As for the second point, I was being driven by instinct: the training we found in the Animagus book has allowed some of the personality and powers of my form to blend into my natural form; I had no idea what I was doing, only that it was the right thing to do."

"But what if she's right and you had the Dark Lord's soul in control of your body?" Draco asked.

In answer, Harry crossed the room to his makeshift bookshelf and took down a book titled "Discoveries of the Millenium". Flipping through, he found what he was looking for and handed it to Hermione's already outstretched hands. She perused it, reading aloud as she did:

_"This account from The Daily Prophet, December 4, 1796, written by Matilda Skeeter describes this issue in detail._

_"These past few weeks, the public has been clamoring for the release and reanimation of the recently incarcerated Lord Brian Mcintosh, who was accused of conspiring with and assisting British colonists in their efforts to betray the mother country. The punishment for this act of treason was the Dementor's Kiss, a punishment where a Dementor sucks out the soul of the convicted. Recent evidence proving Lord Mcintosh's innocence has stirred the people of Magical Britain into a frenzy; they have demanded his release._

_It is my sad duty to inform you, fair readers, that several Unspeakables have been working with the Dementor which took Lord Mcintosh's soul in an attempt to return it to its previous container. After several days of hard work, they have, unfortunately, been unsuccessful. Furthermore, the Unspeakables could find no trace of Lord Mcintosh's soul within the Dementor, leading them to believe that it was destroyed by the Dementor's body upon consumption."_

_This article marks the discovery of a fact that most witches and wizards, up until that point, believed to be otherwise: the Dementor's Kiss is not reversible, no matter how much we may at times wish it to be otherwise. From this point on, the Kiss was only given out sparingly as a punishment; generally, if you were deemed a criminal of the highest caliber, you would simply be imprisoned in Azkaban Prison and forced to endure the Dementor's aura of fear for the duration of your imprisonment."_

As she finished, looking up, Harry continued "It has been proven on more than one occasion that when a Dementor uses its Kiss on someone, it is not stored, but rather destroyed. However, since I wasn't actually in my Reaper form, there was a possibility that it would work differently.

It has been my understanding that Voldemort practiced powerful Necromancy during the War of the Dark Mark: he raised armies of Inferi, forcing souls to continue inhabiting their own bodies beyond death; the incident with Quirrell over the winter break indicates he has somehow separated his soul from his body without dying as a result. From this information, I concluded at the time that he has studied many different aspects Necromancy, including the near-nonexistent lore regarding Dementors. When I began using the Kiss on her, he became aware of what I was doing. While he may have been able to take control of me upon its completion, there was an equal, if not greater, chance that he would be destroyed. Needless to say, he prefered to cut and run while he still had the chance."

"How was it?" Draco asked. Harry turned to stare at him; Hermione followed suit. "The kiss, I mean. You were kissing a vampire chick, after all."

"Draco," Hadrian began, rubbing the bridge of his nose, "I am eleven. I haven't begun to feel attracted to anyone in the way you're implying. Furthermore, she looked like she was a few years younger than me; If I did find that attractive, I would have a serious problem. Now can I continue the story, or do you have another childish question?" Seeing his friend's almost hurt expression, he sighed. "I realize it sounds harsh, but I'm tired and it's been a long night, mostly spent putting up with Weasley."

"Now where was I? Ah, your final point, allowing her to drink from me: from what Hagrid said, no unicorn had yet been harmed, and therefore no blood consumed without the unicorn's consent. To consume unicorn blood without it being offered as a gift by said unicorn would result in a cursed life. It would have been cruel to leave her there with cursed blood as her only means of salvation. I believe you've called it my 'saving-people-thing'."

"How was that?" Draco asked. Harry stared at him again. Shifting under his friend's stern gaze, he said "I'm curious."

Harry's brow scrunched up in puzzlement. Finally, he said "I'm not sure how to describe it: it wasn't exactly painful—sorry, let me rephrase that. It wasn't as painful as I expected it to be, but it only hurt when the teeth pierced my skin; after that, I can only assume something in the vampiric physiology deadens the pain, as well as healing the bitemark. Already, it's disappearing, look." He pulled down his collar and, sure enough, the pair of small circles marking the spot were almost invisible, likely to have fully disappeared by morning.

Hermione frowned. "From what we read up on vampires this week, it shouldn't be healing quite this fast."

"It's probably my Family Magick speeding up the healing process. The Potter blood is infused with powerful healing magic; that's happened since I was little every time I suffered any kind of injury," Harry replied, remembering the many cuts over the years that always disappeared within a day no matter their severity, and never left scars. "Now if you two don't mind, I'm going to turn in. I'm probably going to be sleeping in tomorrow morning—Draco, please stop pretending to faint in shock, it's ungentlemanly—and once I get up, I plan to spend the day relaxing, preferably with you guys."

As Draco left for his own room, Hermione said "Harry? Could you give me a ride to Gryffindor tower? I don't want to risk running into Weasley." Harry nodded, a bit puzzled; it wasn't too odd a request to make, given the circumstances, so he acquiesced. Gripping her arm, he Shadow-Traveling both of them to the First Year Gryffindor Girls quarters, before making to leave. As he did so, Hermione called out again "Harry?" He turned. "About Draco's question..." he motioned for her to continue. "Would you be opposed to kissing...romantically...with me?" By the time she finished, they were both blushing profusely.

"Well...er," Hadrian said, the 'deer-caught-in-the-headlights' feeling quite new to him. "I—I wouldn't be opposed, to answer your question." Regaining his usual control over himself. "I must admit, I haven't thought about kissing anyone in any way before at all, and certainly not in a romantic way. If I was willing to, however...er, would you be...willing as well? To try it I mean," he added hastily.

Hermione bit her lip, something she did when deep in thought. "I would be willing to try it...and you're, er, here right now, so, uh..." she trailed off, blushing again. Harry wasn't doing too much better.

"Hermione," Harry said, "We could...do that right now, then talk about... discuss it tomorrow to see if we want to take it further. But right now, we're just two friends trying out something new...okay?"

"Okay!" Hermione said, relieved at the end of the embarrassing situation. She crossed the room towards him as he walked back over to her. Slowly, they leaned forward and their lips met. It was only a closed-mouth kiss, but it was still a 'first kiss' for both of them, in the romantic sense, and as far as they were concerned, it was the best thing they'd ever experienced. They stayed connected for several seconds before separating.

"That was...quite pleasant," Harry ventured after a while, his mind still processing the situation.

"Pleasant enough to do again?" Hermione asked, a curious look in her eyes.

"Yes...but not tonight," Harry said decidedly. "I've kept you up late enough as it is." Turning to leave, he said "Goodnight Hermione. Pleasant dreams," before disappearing into the shadows once more.

"Right...pleasant dreams," Hermione whispered dazedly to no one, before climbing into her own bed and nodding off to sleep.

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><p>A.N.: Going over my checklist of 'awesome fanfic stuff': awkward tweener romance? Check. Vampires that don't sparkle? Check. Ron Weasley exposed to all as the coward he is? Not quite yet, but a quick conversation between Harry and the twins should fix that. And to top it all off, another half-dozen plot hooks or so. Fantastic! That's all for now, other than my usual plea to leave a review.<p> 


	8. Visitation, Exploration, Reincarnation

A.N.: Hello everyone, I'm back! Okay, so I know it's been over a month since the last update, but there was one particular part I wasn't sure how to handle for the longest time and it only came to me a few days ago. I've also been busy reading some of my own favorites lately, of which there have been many updates, which has kept me busy.

On that note, I have noticed several authors have been talking about how the admins have actually been enforcing this site's policies on fic content, specifically in regards to sexual content. I felt the need to contribute my own observations on this subject, which have been presented below in bold. If you aren't interested in reading my little rant, then skip past it to the story.

**I cannot fault the admins for attempting to enforce the rules: enforcing the rules is usually a given when it involves such a wide-scale concept as fanfiction sites, of which this site is one of the bigger ones. That being said, I CAN fault the admins for how they've gone about doing this: they receive a complaint about a story, give it a cursory glance, and delete it if there's a grain of truth to the accusations. From complaints I've read, they don't delete the stories, but the author's accounts, which is entirely unfair. There is no warning like 'Hey, this story has to many detailed sex parts, can you do something about that?'**

**Were they to do that, ask the author to fix the problem, or ask them to take down the story, people wouldn't be upset. The reasonable thing would be to give a warning to the author, then delete the story if the warning is ignored, then delete the author if further problems come up. This problem would also be fixed if this site included an MA rating; unfortunately, both of these options require at least a minimum level of effort and care on the part of the admins, which I guess is entirely unacceptable.**

**At first I thought 'At least they're being consistent in their stupid, apathetic behavior, right?' Wrong. Before I joined fanfiction, I kept track of my favorites in a Notepad file. This file included all kinds of things: movies, books, plays, anime; any and all fanfiction I'd found over the years that piqued my interest. As is likely a common case among people who frequent this site, I had some stories I kept track of not for the interesting plot, or for the character concepts they developed, but for the sexual scenes contained.**

**One such story contained a laudable excuse for a plot that hyperbolized several character's personality traits. Let me be clear: some stories with sexual scenes do so tactfully, where it improves the story, or where sex is tied into the plot somehow. This is not one of those stories: it is an excuse to write the most god awful smut that has ever lowered my faith in humanity. This absolute piece of trash story has such villains as Freddie Mercury, Sherlock Holmes, and a demon whose body parts are made of various genitalia; every last person recognizable as canon mentioned in the story has sex with someone else in the story at some point, and most have multiple sexual encounters. It is exactly the kind of tasteless, pathetic excuse for writing smut involving one's favorite characters that has caused the admins to go on this rampage recently.**

**It is still up at the time of this writing: I checked. One of the worst offenders of this sites policies, and it's still up. So the admins don't even take the initiative to search their site for offending stories: they only do anything when someone complains about. Quite lazy in my opinion: they're already upsetting hordes of people, both authors and readers, by deleting some of our favorite stories, but they're not even doing that right. I'd almost pity them—the problem is either a complete lack of motivation to do their jobs correctly or that they're simply too incompetent to do it right—if I weren't one of the readers they pissed off with their uncaring, minimum effort attempt to please the over-prudish sheep who begin bleating every time they think they read the word 'penis'.**

Now that that's over with, on with the story. Please read and review!

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><p>Chapter 7: Visitation, Exploration, And Reincarnation<p>

_—February 1, 1992—_

Hadrian Potter was staring at the ceiling, trying to work up the energy to get out of bed; a quick glance at his watch and noting the time: 11:42 am. Groaning, he rolled out of bed and made his way towards the adjacent shower room, the scent of sweat, blood, and soil still clinging to his person from the night before. As he disrobed and stepped into the steaming spray, he allowed himself a moment to relax into the heat; Unlike many of his year mates, Harry knew and appreciated the good feeling that spread that came with a hot shower, such a thing being a rarity in his relative's house. After several minutes of basking in the feeling, he began scrubbing and, soon enough, was leaving the Slytherin dorms dressed in fresh robes, intent on getting some lunch before it ended.

Arriving in the grand hall, he went to his seat and began piling his plate with chicken and mashed potatoes. Draco arrived after several minutes, along with Hermione; she and Harry blushed slightly when they made eye contact, remembering the night before. The three of them began talking about trivial things: what had been going on in classes lately, discussing the latest rumor to go flying around the castle (Supposedly, the Gryffindor chasers, known as the Crimson Vixens, has taken part in a foursome sometime last week with Cedric Diggory), and other things of passing interest. Harry's interest was piqued when Filch entered and whispered something to Dumbledore that caused him to leap up and leave the Great Hall in quite a hurry.

During their conversations, Harry noticed a figure rising from the Gryffindor table and coming towards them. He glanced at them and saw that it was Lavender Brown, one of Hermione's dorm mates and, according to Hermione, an avid gossip. She was average height for a first year and her body looked like it was still working off some of the baby fat. Her hair, which went a bit past her shoulders, was a dirty blonde and her eyes, a dark brown color, were twinkling with amusement, much like Dumbledore's did on occasion.

As she finished making her way over to them, she stopped in front of them and said "Potter, I need to talk to you for a moment. Come with me." She walked off and out of the Great Hall. Harry sighed and, turning to his friends, said "I'll be right back once I found out what all that was about. Excuse me." Getting up, he followed the blonde Gryff's path out of the hall, to find her waiting just outside the door. "Well," he said in his usual neutral tone "What do you want, Brown?"

"I wanted to tell you that I was awake last night," she said. He didn't react, so she pressed on. "I noticed that Hermione wasn't in bed by curfew, and it isn't like her to break the rules—well, unless you were involved—and so I decided to wait up for her. So then," she continued "Some time around two in the morning, you and she suddenly pop up in the room and wish each other goodnight...with a kiss." She grinned as Harry's eyes flashed, emboldened by her success in getting him to react. Here, her tone turned threatening. "I just wanted to tell you, Potter, that while I don't think you are just using her like Weasley suggested, if you hurt her, there won't be enough of you left to bury. Understand?" she finished, her tone

Harry nodded. "I understand, Brown. I'm sure you understand that I must make sure you're aware that, should you tell anyone without either of us having given you permission to do so, I can assure you that no one will even find a body to bury. Understand?" he asked, his aura bleeding out a bit.

Lavender face paled before she quickly responded "Uh huh, yeah, I understand."

Harry smiled, a sight that made her more frightened considering it appeared to be splitting his face and filled with razor sharp teeth. "Good," he said, before moving to return to the Great Hall.

"Excuse me, young man," a voice called out from down the hall. "Might you be Harry Potter?"

Harry turned to face the voice, and the sarcastic retort that had been waiting on the tip of his tongue dying at the sight of the man behind it. A young man, perhaps in his mid-twenties or -thirties by the look of him (although magical tended to age slower than muggles, so it was possible he was older), stood before him, dressed in what looked like dark green dragon skin robes with black silk shirt and pants underneath. Custom mooncalf boots, much like the ones Hadrian himself wore, adorned the man's feet. He appeared to have several things attached to his belt, most noticeably a pair of daggers, although there was also several pouches attached in various places.

The man himself was a red head, much like the Weasleys; the difference was that he made it work. Obviously of Scottish descent, the torchlight behind him made his hair seem as if alight. The man's chin and cheekbones bore a passing resemblance to those of Professor McGonagall, making Harry briefly wonder if they were related. His face betrayed no emotions, although his pitch black eyes spoke volumes: while he may have appeared to be 30 or so, the experience shining in his eyes marked him as older, perhaps much older. The most impressive feature the man boasted was a slight aura; every magical being had an aura, but it was usually not detectable without a spell. This man's aura, unlike the soothing presence Dumbledore exuded or the sheer intimidation Professors McGonagall and Snape could cause, this man's aura spoke of a casual power lying dormant, but ready to strike if necessary.

"And if I am?" Harry replied, his usual mask falling into place.

"Then I would thank you for stopping a terrible tragedy from occurring," the man said, a small smile gracing his lips. "If, however, you are not Harry Potter, then I must bid you good day."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Many would say I cause more terrible tragedies than I stop, but your thanks are welcome. Now that you know my name, if it's not too bothersome, might I know yours?"

The man continued smiling "Of course, how rude of me. Allow me to introduce myself: my name is Nickolas Flamel, Head of the Ancient House of Flamel."

Harry's eyes widened, and he heard Lavender squeal from behind him before she ran into the Great Hall. After a few seconds of gawking, he said "I'm...er, you're welcome. To be honest, I was just exploring at the time, and coming across such a thing was...unexpected to say the least. Especially considering how poorly it was guarded."

Nickolas grimaced. "Yes, I'll have to talk to Albus about that. I take it you don't want credit for the discovery?"

Harry smirked. "Not publicly. I must ask—" At that moment, the doors to the Entrance Hall burst open, revealing the Headmaster, who looked quite flustered.

"Nickolas!" the old man cried. "It's good to see you! Why didn't you tell me you were stopping by?" he asked nervously.

Nickolas smiled good naturally. "Oh, I was going over some of my more recent anecdotes with Perenelle and realized I hadn't shared them with you yet. I decided to surprise you and stop by, and you know how I don't like Floo travel. I figured we'd converse for a while, swap stories of my adventures for going ons in the castle, share some tea, I could check on my Stone, and we could harass the faculty members, like old times. I actually ran into Harry here just a minute ago and got to hear about some of the things that have been going on around here. I must say, if half of what I've heard is true, tonight should prove most interesting for the both of us."

Throughout the older man's speech, Dumbledore was getting quite pale. "Yes, yes," he said distractedly. "We have much to discuss. Perhaps we could adjourn to my office, so as not to detain Mr. Potter any longer with our ramblings."

"Of course," Nickolas agreed. "Goodbye, Mr. Potter; perhaps we will get to continue this conversation some other time."

"Perhaps so. Good day, Mr. Flamel. Good day, Headmaster." With that, Harry returned to the Great Hall to finish his lunch and tell his friends about the "surprise" visitor . Later that night, he received a letter from Nickolas saying that he had told Albus that one of his contacts had been the one to steal the Stone, and that he had it in his possession once more. Dumbledore had unsuccessfully pressed for details, but Nick kept Harry's involvement secret. Harry, knowing that Dumbledore might be tampering with his mail to keep Harry from revealing important information, sent a letter to Nickolas with Hedwig that read

_I'd like to thank you, Mr. Flamel, for the letters you've sent me since we first met. I'm afraid that the Dursleys wouldn't allow visitors without getting to know them first; Uncle Vernon doesn't want me running off with strangers, after all. In regards to your query, I'm sure Perenelle will love the magical lilypad coaster you made, evan though the venomous petunia didn't work out as well as hoped. Hopefully its "children" won't turn out to be duds as well. I also wanted to ask you what, precisely what you meant when you said you'd discovered a potion that could fix bodily pains. What could it heal, if anything?_

_Don't be a stranger,_

_-Hadrian Potter_

Harry had written the letter the way he did because Nickolas Flamel , being as old as he is, was likely used to changes happening all around him, and would have learned to adapt by now to the technological advances in the muggle world. Harry's letter contained enough information for the famed alchemist to figure out where he lived using muggle methods and could then retrieve his Stone.

This double bluff seemed like just the kind of protection Nick had talked about in his previous letter: Most of the students, after Dumbledore's previous announcement, would think the Stone was still safe in the third floor corridor. Someone would have to beat all of the traps the professors had laid, only to not find the Stone. They would then have to question Dumbledore—which would involve illegal substances, a Master Legilimens, and the power and skill necessary to hold Dumbledore hostage indefinitely against his will—to "find out" that Nickolas had the stone. They would then have to defeat the alchemist's defenses, capture him, and interrogate him to find out that Harry had the Stone. They would then have to locate Harry, who had been kept safe from Dark witches and wizards most of his life by the wards that surrounded his place of residence, and then capture and question him to actually finally get the Stone. Sending his letter off, Harry thought about ways to take advantage of Dumbledore's refocused attention as he returned to the dorms to get some sleep.

It was several days after meeting Nickolas in person for the first time that Harry received a reply to his letter with several subtle clues indicating that the ancient alchemist had understood his message and could contact Harry over the summer hols. The man had also indicated that, other than actually being dead, there wasn't much his "potion" couldn't heal. Harry had sent a reply, saying that they could meet over the summer hols and talk, as well as "returning the book he'd borrowed" from the ancient alchemist.

Since his detention, Harry had taken to wandering the forest in his Reaper form every once in awhile. The forest surrounded Hogwarts and Hogsmeade for a few dozen kilometers in every direction, leaving a lot of area for Harry to explore. The area that could be called the Forbidden Forest was mostly the forest within about five kilometers of Hogwarts, Hogsmeade, and the Hogwarts grounds. Hadrian had begun exploring the deeper parts of the forest behind Hogwarts—although he was still avoiding the vampires, the Acromantula nest, and the Centaur camp—and was a bit surprised at all the magical animals he found wandering around. Most were fairly harmless, but some were dangerous: there was a huge Hebridean Black living in the base of one of the many mountains on the far edge of the forest almost 20 kilometers in.

Harry had barely entered the humongous cave it lived in (nearly 30 meters in height and about 100 wide, just barely covered by the surrounding trees) when he noticed that, besides the massive form of the adult dragon, there were also several cow-sized dragons flying around as well. Each of the dragons, probably a few months older than Norberta, were flying around the cave, oblivious to the intruder. The mother dragon—which it undoubtedly was—was glaring at him. Remembering how territorial such dragons could be and that a dragon that old could actually kill him in this form, he very slowly began backing out of the cave, the wyrm's eyes following him the whole time, ready to protect her progeny.

With his detention out of the way and Dumbledore off his case, Harry was able to focus on dealing with the various loose ends that had piled up since the Winter Break had let out: The next few weeks were jam-packed with such points of interest: Weasley had been spreading rumors again, the first being the usual nonsense accusing Harry of being dark. The second rumor the idiot was spreading was that Harry and he had run into a second-rate monster in the Forest—either a werewolf child, a small Acromantula, or an particularly large and angry Kneazle, Ron couldn't seem to keep that part of the story straight—which apparently had frightened Harry out of his wits.

According to Ronald, Harry tried to run, but was attacked and nearly killed by the creature, until he, Ronald Weasley, stepped in and defeated the unchallenging beast (which in this retelling, was a werewolf). When the ginger idiot was announcing his story at breakfast a few mornings after, Fred and George challenged this story: no werewolf would be in wolf form when there was no full moon. When Ron asked them how they knew there hadn't been a full moon during his detention, they reminded him that most everyone at Hogwarts takes the Astronomy class about once a week and therefore would know the lunar cycles well; what's more, the moon was currently visible on the Great Hall's enchanted ceiling and was clearly a crescent, a phase too different from a full moon to have occurred after just three days time.

At this point, several students insisted they'd heard it was an acromantula, but the twins then informed then that Ron was deathly afraid of spiders. The kneazle argument was also debunked since, according to Ronald, it was the size of a large dog, which Hermione pointed out was impossible to find in the wild. At this point, Weasley's few defenders gave up and watched him sink deeper into the bull-shit he was shoveling. Having seen enough, Harry walked over and offered his own version of events (leaving out most of the details) and swore an oath to its validity. He invited Percy Weasley to perform the memory projection charm on him and Ron to prove it one way or the other. So there, in the middle of the Great Hall, Weasley's cowardice was revealed to all. Harry countered the 5th year's spell once his story had been verified before anything incriminating was revealed: no one, not even Percy noticed in the ensuing wave of laughter.

On other fronts, Draco had written to his father, who was on the Hogwarts Board of Directors, about a detention into the forest with one adult incapable of defensive magic that placed two students in a life-or-death situation. He wasn't the only one; Hermione had started a study group during first semester that had gotten quite a few members, including Susan Bones and Neville Longbottom, who wrote their guardians about it as well after seeing the memories in the Great Hall. Lord Malfoy, Lady Regent Bones (also Madam Bones, DMLE Director), and Lady Regent Longbottom (another Board member) had not been pleased with this, and came down hard one Albus and the other staff members when they heard the whole "send first years into the forest at midnight" idea had come from Dumbledore.

Dumbledore, meanwhile, was too busy between placating Nickolas and the Board of Directors to continue the passive-aggressive war he'd waged on Harry since term had commenced, allowing Harry to make more nightly excursions to the Restricted Section without the near-omniscient Headmaster breathing down his neck. Recently, Harry had begun researching the Divine Magick briefly mentioned in his creature book in an attempt to figure out what it was. So far, the only book to do more than mention it was called "Magick Moste Evile", a book Harry did not want to be seen with, especially by Dumbledore. It had been written by the archmage Godelot Black, a powerful warlock during the 4th century whose research into all Magicks considered Dark had advanced the general populace's understanding of said Magicks by a few centuries. The passage he'd found that satisfied his curiosity read as thus:

_"Divine Magick allows those who know how to access it to call forth powers wizard-kind has proven incapable of duplicating except in crude mockery. To understand its complex nature, one must understand first the basics of how wizard magic works. Magick is an energy that permeates the entire world; it flows through every living being, filling them with energy and life, while it flows around non-living things, affecting them in tiny ways. This energy is virtually limitless, even in a particular location, although the natural effect it has on its environment is nearly negligible until the energy is disturbed or manipulated._

_Wizards are beings born with the ability to focus the magical energy in their immediate surroundings and to direct it it as they will in any number of ways; other creatures are usually limited in specific ways in this regard, such as only affecting the magic of the air, as with house elves. A strong force of will is required: the stronger your resolve, the more energy you are capable of controlling—or at least aiming. As one's force of will is connected to the development of the mind and body, it grows exponentially during the teen years, which is why most magical instruction takes place during this time. The advantage of wizard magic is that it does not fatigue the wizard's body when used. Furthermore, items such as wands, staves, and orbs are capable of channeling this energy efficiently, allowing more magic to be accessed without losing much control (although the focus in question can be damaged by particularly powerful spells). Similarly, the structure of thought provided by incantations allows for easier manipulation of said energy._

_Divine Magick is very different: Divine Magick is magic where the energy is coming from a divine being: a god, goddess, or lesser deity. It usually involves years of devotion and hard work, and often decades. Ultimately, anyone using Divine Magick is essentially being used as a wand be a deity—sure, you get to choose how the energy is directed, but your body can only channel so much power at once. As with wands, most of the energy being channelled will pass through harmlessly; however, some energy will always bleed off, causing fatigue in the channeler's limbs at best and, if the spell is particularly powerful, physical damage. This damage is almost impossible to heal with Wizard magic, as I've discovered. My explorations into the field of Divine Magick have proven almost entirely insufficient to be included in this work, with few exceptions. The one I shall tell you about is my most recent attempt: to raise my dead wife._

_Three months ago, as I was assisting Lord Black in assaulting Fort Macmillan, assassins hired by the so-called "Leader of the Light" broke into my home and killed my beloved Adrianna. I arrived several hours later and, upon hearing the bad news, was inconsolable for days. It was only then that I thought of my experimentations with Divine Magick. As previously theorized, I believe the powerful wand I acquired several years ago to be the fabled Elder Wand crafted, if the stories are true, by Death himself and enchanted to be unbeatable. While I do not know if this last part is true or not, I am convinced that this wand is at least connected to Death, as any attempts at magic regarding death and injury have increased in power and efficiency; what's more, it has allowed me to perform minor Divine miracles._

_My experiments and research indicate that raising the dead is possible with Divine Magick, and also that it is one of the most taxing of miracles to perform. Unconcerned as I was about everything at the time, I made the preparations to begin the ritual, including finding a powerful Healer to take care of me while I was indisposed. I spent a few minutes preparing the necessary runes and minutiae, before I began chanting the incantations—prayers to Death, really— for several hours straight, casting the magic out into the world and through my wand. After many hours of directing this power to search the multiverse for my wife's soul, I felt it seize something in the ether and prepared myself for the trauma to come. I will not lie: the bodily harm that wracked my person at that moment left me but a hair's width from dying myself._

_I am only writing of these results now, a little over three months after the fact, because this is the first time since that day I have been able to hold and manipulate a quill with sufficient dexterity to form words on the page. All four of my limbs were broken in multiple places; three of my ribs were broken, and two more cracked; if my left hand had not been cut off years ago, it would have been crushed by the pressure that claimed my hook. I did not learn about any of this until some three weeks ago when I finally woke up from the coma this trauma caused me. Needless to say, I was overjoyed to find Adrianna tending to me, and did not mind one bit the lecture she unleashed on me, so grateful I was that she was alive._

_I leave this warning to any mage brave, devoted, or foolish enough to attempt Divine Magick: I attempted to raise the dead with what is arguably the best possible focus, the most advanced understanding of Divine Magick in the land, and with as much built-up tolerance to the bled-off magical energy possible at my rather advanced age, and barely succeeded without the effort killing me in the process. This Magick is not a tool to be wielded by anyone, nor is it forgiving of mistakes. It is dangerous and often requires a sacrifice common in the most powerful rituals known to wizard kind: things like the blood of a virgin or a flesh sacrifice on the part of the caster. Do not attempt to use this Magick unless you are fully prepared for when—not if, but when—the consequences come calling home."_

After reading this, Hadrian decided to cease his pursuit of Divine Magick temporarily—he wanted a few more years or so to learn how magic works before attempting Divine Magick, and with good reason. Since his discovery of this account, he had slowed down his search for information regarding such things almost to a halt, although he still kept notes of where he saw it mentioned in any of the books he read. He also was very interested in this so-called "Elder Wand". His research into it told him that the idea originated in a wizarding fairy tale, which almost made him dismiss the idea entirely.

Supposedly, three wizard brothers came across a dangerous river one day that had claimed many lives. They used their magic to create a bridge before crossing unharmed. About halfway across, they met Death himself, who sought revenge on the brothers for denying him three more bodies. However, in order not to make his feelings obvious, he offered each one a gift of their choice for successfully crossing the river. The first brother asked for a wand that couldn't be outdueled; Death picked a small branch off of an elder tree growing by the river and handed it to him. the second brother asked for a way to bring others back from Death; Death picked up a pebble lying on the shore of the river and gave it to him, with instructions to turn it three times while thinking of the person he wished to bring back. The third brother didn't trust Death, and asked for a way to be kept safe from Death. Unwillingly, Death handed him his own Invisibility Cloak.

The first brother went to a nearby village, sought out an old rival, and challenged him to a duel. He won, of course, and spent the night celebrating, eventually getting so drunk he told all present of how he had an unbeatable wand given to him by Death himself. Later that night, a thief crawled in through the window, stole the wand, and slit the man's throat. And so the first brother was in Death's clutches. The second brother used his gift to bring his would-be bride, who had died before their wedding night, back from the dead. She wasn't truly alive, though. She did not belong in the realm of the living, and being there caused her to suffer. The second brother, not wishing to cause her pain, but also unwilling to be without her, killed himself so as to join her. And so Death took the second brother as well. Death did not find the third brother for many years, although he looked constantly. It was only when the third brother, having grown old, passed on the Cloak to his son that Death found him. They walked to the afterlife side by side, equals.

While an interesting fairy tale, Harry hadn't given it much though when he first read it until he read a number of articles by various men and women who had believed the three items from the story were real and had spent their lives tracking them down. Reading of their findings, Harry combed through the many historical texts contained in the Hogwarts library for confirmation of some facts they mentioned as relevant. Death's Invisibility Cloak allowed whoever was wearing it to control whether they were visible or not, unlike other such cloaks. It was also apparently much more resilient than most: whereas most Invisibility Cloaks lasted a few years before the magic began to deteriorate, Death's Invisibility Cloak could last forever. What's more, it not only kept its wearer out of sight, it also could protect them from spells and was virtually impossible to be taken from their possession against their will. It was assumed by most such believers that the Cloak was in possession of one of the pureblood families, since it could be passed down generation to generation, and was probably gathering dust in a familial vault in Gringotts.

Very few people ever mentioned the Stone; it was unknown who had retrieved it from the second brother's house and, since only the second brother knew how to work it, they would never have figured out its true power. It has been suggested that the spirits of the dead summoned by the Stone were not tied down to any particular time and could, hypothetically, see into the future. Since the Stone had disappeared, it had only turned up a few times in all of Wizarding history, usually in the hands of a powerful Necromancer.

The wand was the most visible of the three: magical dictators, tyrants, warlock, and self-proclaimed Dark Lords throughout history were believed (or had believed themselves) to possess the Elder Wand. It was usually called something else, like the Wand of Destiny, or the Deathstick, or something similar. It resurfaced once every few hundred years, quite often considering that the Tales of Beedle the Bard, the first person to write of these so-called "Deathly Hallows" did so sometime around 1000 B.C. What's more, the Bard had determined in his own writings later in life that the three brothers were probably Greek in origin. As he kept researching, Harry became more and more convinced, until he realized he had spent several days researching a fairy tale. Deciding to get back to it another time, he left the library for the night.

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><p>A.N.: This chapter was originally much longer, approaching 10k word, in fact, but within a day of its posting, I received a reviewing commenting on a problem that I have noticed in previous chapters as well as something that has been pointed out to me by the only person who reads my story that I know in real life; furthermore, I understand that when one person takes the time to say it, its likely that many are thinking it, so I have split this large chapter into two parts before writing more details for the parts of the story I skimmed over before. The next chapter will have all of the new stuff. Insert the usual plea for feedback in the form of a review here.<p> 


	9. Valentine's Day, Quidditch, Honor Duels

Hello, everyone! Before you get too excited, I'd like to apologize for setting off your alerts: this is not a new chapter, per se, but rather me taking the last half of chapter 7, extrapolating on things mentioned there that could use more detail, and making it into chapter 8. It was one of the few regrets I had about that chapter, and against my better judgment, I published it anyway because I felt it had been too long since I'd updated. What's more, the only person I know in the real world who reads my story also complained about this, as did one of my readers in the comments section not even a day after it was published. My general rule regarding comments is that if one person is saying it, about a hundred were already thinking it, and a thousand more would agree if the read the comment in question. So now the 10k word Chapter 7 is two chapters that together are quite a bit longer.

I've also come to a minor epiphany regarding my response to comments. Usually, if I read a comment that I think worth answering—whether a question, a complaint, or just advice—I PM'd them. Recently, a comment more deserving of an answer than most was made by an author who has made it where they can't be PM'd. Thinking about it, in my PMs, I usually give out some of my reasoning for things going on in my story that help it make more sense, something all my readers could benefit from. As much as I think its a cheap way to extend a chapter's length, I am going to be answering such reviews in the most recent chapter, starting with this one. If you aren't interested, skip past the replies in italics to the actual story. Please read and review!

_**Schnuff**: This chapter extension is an attempt to solve exactly the kind of thing you're talking about. While not the only example, it is by far the worst case in my story so far. The sequel story hopefully won't have the same problem. The second part of your review is a bit more problematic to answer. Here's my thoughts on this and why Harry isn't getting politically involved much at Hogwarts yet._

_1) This is a timeline-esque explanation. Assuming that Harry was born to Lily and James when they were 20 years old, that has them (and Snape) going to Hogwarts starting in 1970. I'm going to say that at that time, Voldemort was amassing followers and was a known Dark Lord, although not anywhere near the level of infamy he later had. The war started sometime during their fifth year, and people started taking sides. In 1981, Voldemort killed Lily and James, but was defeated by Harry...somehow. Snape begins teaching at Hogwarts, as well as becoming Slytherin House's Head. For ten years, he taught the students of Slytherin House. From 1981 to 1990, all Slytherin students had pureblood beliefs and a hatred of Harry Potter forced into their minds by parents, peers, and the only teacher they considered "on their side". 1991: Harry arrives at Hogwarts not a clone of James Potter with Lily's eyes who gets into Gryffindor, but a smooth-haired, no glasses, cool as a cucumber Harry who goes into Slytherin. This causes Snape to rethink his stance on the young man._

_The result among the student: the first years know Harry's in charge of them. The second and third years respect/fear him. The fourth years and some fifth years are indifferent. The fifth, sixth, and seventh years (who were 4, 5, and 6 when Harry beat Voldy) have had this ideology since they were toddlers; when you consider how devious they must be, and how knowledgeable, they will have been working to limit Harry's power within the house. The worst of them will be gone by third year, which I already had planned to make more politically involved._

_2) Outside of Slytherin, people aren't quite willing to trust him. He hangs out with Draco Malfoy, a member of arguably one of the darkest families. He also hangs out with Hermione Granger, a genius-level intellectual, a muggleborn, and a Gryffindor. he also gets those two to hang out together without a fight. Needless to say, most people at Hogwarts are confused by Hadrian Potter, while most outside of Hogwarts think they have Harry Potter figured out._

_**gster391**: While this story (meaning this first year and all the others as well) will be Harry/Hermione centric, there will be other women in his life, at least as friends. Whether he will have a romantic relationship with anyone other than Hermione has not yet been decided on my part as the differences between friend, good friend, best friend, and girlfriend, and lover, while important to the romantic side of my story, they are almost entirely irrelevant to the main plot, that being the one surrounding Voldemort and Dumbledore. And yes, Sable is definitely in the running and would likely be a mistress in that situation. But I will not personally refer to Hary as Tsucune 2.0._

_Your comment has won you an internetz for making me laugh. Spend it wisely._

_**Rian DaHart**: I have no intention of stopping this story: if I die before finishing, I shall not rest until the afterlife has wi-fi sufficient to continue._

_**magitech**: While you're right that Higgs owes personal fealty, he will very soon be the Head of House Higgs, at which point the two are essentially the same thing. I feel the need to explain how the line of sucession works in my story._

_The Head of House is the current rightful of age person who would run the house. Most Houses have are patriarchal, but a fair number are matriarchal. An heir/heiress is someone who has inherited the lordship/ladyship of their house, but is not of age and cannot claim it, such as Susan Bones, Neville Longbottom, and Terrence Higgs, who will be Lady Bones, Lord Longbottom, and Lord Higgs upon turning 17 (Terrence has a May birthday). A Lord/Lady regent is someone related to the current Heir to the House who will fulfill those duties until the Heir is of age. Someone like Draco, who is in line for the title, but cannot claim it yet because the current Head of House still lives, is a Scion of the House, whether male or female. Harry's situation is unique: the entire Potter family was killed off in the war, and his only family is the Dursleys, who won't be allowed to function as such. This is the only reason he was able to claim his Lordship. Hopefully, that clears up any confusion._

_Secondly, while Flint is officially supposed to call Higgs on his actions, custom dictates only Harry can, at this point. Harry could have backed out then without losing anything, but he chose not to, and it payed off. Terrence has lost a lot of respect for his actions. When Harry began firing back with a steady barrage, Flint would be foolish to try and deny a Lord of a Most Ancient and Most Noble House...well, pretty much anything he wants._

_**sapphyredragon-rn**: I have been unclear here: the Potter family Magick does not give Harry Wolverine-like regeneration, it just speeds up any healing he receives, whether natural, muggle, or magical. The Reaper does have Wolverine-like regeneration (which is one reason it's so difficult to kill) and when he turns into it, the Potter family Magick makes it even faster. Similarly, the Vampire bite also heals itself, which is then sped up by the family Magick._

_Anything self-inflicted heals slowly andway, and the Reaper regeneration doesn't affect it. So while any bumps, scrapes, or scratches Harry has suffered over the years would heal quickly and never scar, anything self-inflicted would leave a light scar, which was the problem in an early chapter._

_**Veronas** **& GenetiX23**: There are a couple of reasons important to the overall plot of the story that are easier to deal with if the name isn't just 'Harry'. While Harry is a fine name all on its own, there's no reason why it couldn't be short for something. Finally—and this is my favorite reason—I'm the one writing this story, so I get to write it however I please. There's many examples of someone writing something about Harry on this site that makes me want to ball up and cry, but all the whining in the world isn't going to get the author to change it unless it's a legitimate complaint._

_One of the plot devices common in magical fantasy settings is the power of knowing a person's true name. In the Inheritance cycle, you can bind a person to your will by invoking their true name in the Ancient Language while giving a command, for instance. There are a few other examples, but to save time, I'll tell you how it works here: most rituals, like those mentioned in the section regarding Divine Magick, require (or at least work better) if there is a sacrifice, if the subject of the ritual's true name is used, or if the sacrifice's true name is used; there are few rituals that are unaffected by these things. Furthermore, these magical rituals are based on names as they existed thousands of years ago, before the invention of surnames._

_This means that, while Hadrian James Potter is his legal name, and many people call him Harry, his true name might be "Hadrian, Son of James, of Clan Potter", or "Hadrian Jameson of House Potter", or "Hadrian Jameson of Potter", or some other variant, and that's only one old tyme way of naming someone. His true name might be the version of his name in some other form of Olde English. It might be his name in Ancient Greek, or Latin that needs to be said. It could be in French, like it probably is for the Malfoy's. Each pureblood House/Clan/Tribe/etc has a different origin, a different history, and a different way to call out their true name. This matters for the magical side of things: rituals, magical contracts, House sactioned relationships (wife/concubine/consort/servant/slave to...), and other things enforced through magic. The name Hadrian is used for pureblood etiquette and similar things._

_That being said, if the name change from Harry to Hadrian—a name Harry only occasionally uses when being formal with some people—is the thing you think most worthy of complaining about, I think that's a sign my story is pretty awesome. On this same thought, I'd like to thank GenetiX23 for phrasing his concern as a question rather than as an almost-rant._

* * *

><p>Chapter 8: Valentine's Day, Quidditch, And Honor Duels<em><br>_

_—February 14, 1992—_

Hadrian Potter was just about ready to hurl...and breakfast wasn't even over yet. All over the Great Hall, boys and girls were seeking out their second halves and preaching their love. There were only a couple dozen people acting so sappy, but it was more than enough displays of over-the-top emotions to make Harry reel in disgust. Love, in his opinion, was a more private thing: it did not need to be announced to the world for everyone to 'awwwww' over; rather, it was the small things your loved ones did for you, even if no one ever knew. The displays that morning weren't of love, in his mind, but of a desperate need for confirmation that the person in question's date was still interested in them. Judging by the look on her face, Hermione was having a similar reaction. The relish she was taking into stabbing into her sausage was another clue, not to mention making him inexplicably nervous...

Clearing his throat, he said "Spring. That...lovely time of year when young boys and girls feel their emotions bubbling over the edge of their consciousness, to the point that they must be expressed as loudly and publicly as possible." She looked up, giving him the evil eye. "Hermione, would you be interested in assisting me in a bit of a prank? To...help celebrate the holiday?" She looked at him cautiously, before nodding. "Excellent! It's a date!" Seeing her angered look, he said "Not a date, date; an agreement to do something together. No stupid mushy stuff, I promise. Just messing with people."

Draco expressed an interest in helping prank the lovebirds as well. And so the Silver Trio put their heads together trying to figure out a way to make this horrid day better for them. Ultimately, they wanted to prank the couples putting on a show of their affection, because they were the ones ruining the holiday for the younger years who didn't have dates and couldn't go to Hogsmeade that night anyway. However, they also wanted to make sure that they didn't prank the better behaved couples at the same time. This stumped them until lunch, when they tracked down the twins for help.

"It'd be quite easy to only prank—" began Fred.

"—the couples that are all—" George continued.

"—Lovey-dovey. Whatever you did—"

"—would have to be tied to the one place—"

"—that every mushy couple is going to go to." Fred finshed.

"And that would be where, exactly?" Harry asked.

"Madam Puddifoot's, of course!" the twins said simultaneously.

"It's the most shiny—" Fred said.

"—sparkly—" George said.

"—bedazzling—"

"—luminescent—"

"—pink—"

"sorry excuse for a coffee shop—"

"—you'll ever have the misfortune to set eyes on!" they finished together.

"Seriously though," George said, "During Valentine's day weekend, they all go there; the people who go there are the kinds of people that have been acting up all day. All they ever do is snog each others brains out."

"If you could put a charm on the door to that place to affect everyone who walks through..." Fred theorized.

"Then you could get them all!"

"But what to use?"

"What indeed?"

"The spell Ronald used to trap us in the tower," Hermione said thoughtfully.

The twins looked at her, horror-struck. "We could never be so cruel—"

"—as to trap people in Madam Puddifoots—"

"—no matter how much they may deserve it."

"No, that's too much...but, you said they all snog each other?" she asked. Receiving two nods, she continued, "Well then, make the charm on the door cast your sticky spell on whoever walks through the doorway. Then alter your spell so that it prevents the target's tongue from passing their partner's lips once it's already done so. They'll be stuck snogging each other against their will until the spell wears off."

The twins stared at her, eyes wide as saucers. Eventually, George said "We'll have to put in some safety measures, but other than that..."

"Genius," Fred said, almost reverently. "A truly epic prank." The two of them appeared lost in thought, considering all the possibilities of this new development.

"So, we'll meet you guys in the library after lunch to help modify the spell, so that you guys can place it before the couples start arriving, okay?" Harry asked.

"Yeah," Fred said distractedly, his mind still on pranks he hadn't considered before. "Library after lunch. Got it."

Finishing their meal, the five friends headed to the library to modify the sticky spell the twins had invented. After about an hour or so of trial-and-error, they found a stable solution that would function the way they wanted it to. The twins left to go to the village, promising the three firsties a show when the older students returned from the small town. And they were not disappointed: later that night, several distressed couples interrupted dinner by entering the Great Hall stuck to their other half by the lips, and hysterical. The professors were able to reverse the charm, but only after significant difficulty: the spell was designed to resist countering, so it took quite a while for all the couples were separated.

As they watched the frantic older students enter the castle with more hysteria than necessary from their hiding place near the big front doors to the Great Hall, Harry Hermione and Draco were laughing for several minutes non-stop at the ridiculous people they saw. After the professors had finished fixing most everyone and the show was nearly over, the three of them returned to their meals. After dinner was over, they all left in the direction of the Slytherin common room. As they walked, they talked about random things that were going on in our lives, which eventually turned to the topic of the couples they'd seen. Draco decided to walk ahead of them to talk to Blaise and Theodore.

"Did you see that one Ravenclaw who tried to curse her and her boyfriend apart?" Hermione asked, barely keeping her laughter under control.

"The one who set her hair on fire," Harry asked, his amusement obvious, "Or the one who caused her and her boyfriend to start farting Filibuster's Fireworks?"

"The second one," Hermione replied. "She was so embarrassed, and it didn't help that Professor Snape was smirking the whole time he was removing the spell; he also appeared to be taking his time."

"That he was," Harry replied. "He said he thought it was amusing that all these older years couldn't remove a spell invented by third years. I'm sure that if a few of the Ravenclaw upper years hadn't freaked out, they would've figured out how to remove it themselves." They snickered at the memories they'd made throughout the day. "It seems like a lot of trouble to go through, just to kiss."

"It's not **that** hard to understand," Hermione said. "They think they love each other and want to show their partner proof of that. And we both know that kissing isn't exactly...unpleasant, right?"

Harry smiled. "Yes, I remember. I agree with your explanation for their actions, but I'd rather they kept it...contained." He paused, considering what to say next. "Would you be interested in...doing that again?" he asked.

Hermione blushed, and was silent for a minute. Then she said "Actually...yes. I would." She grabbed Harry and gave him a quick kiss on the lips before he could react. Pulling away, she was blushing even worse now.

He quirked an eyebrow at her. "That was quite...sudden. I take it your Gryff courage is making itself known?" he asked, slightly amused.

"Did you not like it?" she asked uncertainly.

"I liked it; it was just as pleasant as the first one," he replied. "It's probably enough for now, especially since Draco's about to make a fool of himself."

Sure enough, their blond friend was grinning like a loon. "Are you two **sure** you don't like all that mushy kissy Valentine's Day stuff? Because your actions are contradicting your words."

Harry smirked. "What's wrong, Draco: jealous?"

"Sorry, but Hermione's not my type," he replied.

"I was asking if you were jealous of Hermione, actually," Harry said, enjoying the pale look that went across his friend's face. "While I know I'm rather attractive, I don't like you like that. I think I know someone who's just your type, though," he continued, more than aware of Draco's stern glare. "All it needs is the right potion. But don't worry Draco; give me just a few days, and a love potion will ensure you and Ronald can live happily ever after."

"Okay! I get it! I'll stop picking on you two!" Draco said, almost looking sick at the thought.

"Excellent," Harry said. "As long as we have an understanding."

When they reached the entrance to the Slytherin dorms, and Draco had stomped inside, Hermione asked him "You wouldn't really inflict a lovesick Weasley on him, would you?"

Harry considered this. "I would if he deserved it. In other words, he would have to pretty much destroy Hogwarts single-handedly to deserve such a punishment." Hermione chuckled at this.

After a minute, she said "Well, good night Harry, and Happy Valentine's Day." She gave him a quick peck on the cheek, surprising both of them, before she left to return to Gryffindor tower. Harry smiled and shrugged before whispering the password and going into the common room. The stone wall slid back into place behind him, and then all was silent.

_—February 19, 1992_—__

Harry was going for a run in the forest again. Since finding the dragon, Harry had avoided that part of the forest, sticking to the parts nearer to Hogwarts; he went to the strange meadow quite often, as well as skirting around the parts of the forest under control of the centaurs, vampires, and acromantulas. He occasionally saw a centaur, unicorn, or vampire run by, but they mostly seemed to be avoiding him_—_with good reason, considering the reputation Reapers had. It was only when he returned to the meadow that he wasn't in his Reaper form, and from what he could tell, the centaurs didn't have much interest in the meadow and the vampires couldn't enter. He'd seen a few of them stalking around the edges a few times, but they never came in, even if he was there at night. Today was a bit different, though.

As he approached the meadow, in a practiced motion, Harry touched down while transforming back into his human form and began striding towards the meadow. He had made a point to visit the relaxing place very few days: just being there relieved some of the stress that built up from everyday life. He would sit near the tree, use his Occlumency training to throw off the enchantment, and meditate, enjoying the calmness that swept through him while he stayed there. He had set the alarm on the watch Draco had given him to send him a mental alarm every hour so he could keep track of time. The hours stretched out as he lost himself in the peaceful feeling of the meadow, vaguely aware of his watch going off a couple times. As his watch went off for the third time today, Harry opened his eyes to take in his surroundings. It was just approaching dusk (almost time for dinner) and he decided he'd spent enough time in the meadow for today. Standing up from the position he'd held for the past three hours, he stretched a bit, relieving the ache in his joints, before walking towards the break in the tree line he usually used as an entrance and exit to the meadow, only to find his path blocked.

Standing there, in the shade provided by the trees, was the vampire girl, Sable. Now that the blood lust no longer plagued her features, she was quite enchanting, despite the age she appeared to be. He paused for only a second before continuing towards her. Nodding to her as he passed, he continued walking, preparing to transform back when he felt a hand at his shoulder. Turning to face her, he raised an eyebrow in question. Then she spoke: "You saved me. Why" she asked in a soft, almost lilting voice.

He replied "I couldn't just leave you to die. Not only does it go offend the very few morals I possess, it also would be foolish to be indirectly responsible for your death, considering I intended to continue exploring the forest."

"So...morality, and safety were your motivations?" she asked, her facial expressions unreadable.

"I'm not going to leave someone to die if I can prevent it unless they deserve it. You attacked me, but you couldn't be held responsible for it. You were suffering a slow death and I decided to ease the pain a bit. As for safety, no human can be truly safe in this forest, but every little bit helps. If you'll excuse me, I have to get back to the castle." He began walking away.

"The forest is a dangerous place, even so close to the edge. You don't intend to walk back alone, do you?" she called from behind him.

"Not at all," he said. "Perhaps we can talk again another time, but right now I must be going. Good evening, Ms. Sable," he said as he began walking towards the forest edge.

"That's not very fair," she said. "You know my name but I don't know yours."

He turned once more to look at her. After several seconds, he said "My name is Hadrian Potter; my friends, however, call me Harry."

"Good night, then, Harry," she said. "Would you like an escort? The forest is quite dangerous, especially for you."

Harry thought, before saying "It isn't necessary...but if you're sure..."

"It's not a problem," she answered. They began the walk to the edge of the forest in a comfortable silence. Eventually she said "It's not just the creatures of the forest that pose a threat to you, you know."

"Oh? What else dangerous is in here," Harry asked.

"The clan. My father in particular. He is...let's say, old-fashioned. He has been around for quite some time and most of the clan will indulge his will should a mood strike him. He wishes to have you...invited to join the clan, as is custom."

"Custom?"

"It is traditional: you saved my life, and for the right reasons; he respects that and, according to the old ways, you are to be found and turned. You would join the clan as my mate, and the old ways would be appeased."

Harry glanced at her thoughtfully. "You don't agree."

"Not entirely," she responded. "I would like it very much, and it is something I've been raised to believe—"

"I take it you're a firstborn?" Harry interrupted.

She nodded. "Yes. As I said, I've been raised to think this way, but...I wish for you to choose it, rather than having it forced on you. I owe you that much." She paused, before asked "Would you be willing to join our clan? We could be together for all eternity; it would be most enjoyable, I can guarantee you that."

Harry shook his head. "Perhaps at some other point in my life, I will take you up on that offer. But at this point...no. I cannot accept."

"A pity. If that is the case, you should avoid the others; they intend to take you to the clan and hold you there to be turned later. If you insist on coming to the forest, you should come with protection, in case they try something."

"Does your father know of your...feelings regarding this matter?"

"Yes, and while he's not happy, he won't force me to do anything...not yet anyway. Should my debt to you increase, it way be too much and he would invoke his right as sire force my compliance."

"Don't worry, I'm more than prepared for any...altercation," Harry said, smirking. They walked in silence for a minute, before he said "We've arrived at the edge. Perhaps can meet again sometime."

"Perhaps. Goodbye Harry Potter," the vampire girl said, before she disappeared into the shadows. Smiling, Harry began the trek back to the castle, unaware of the eyes he was nevertheless sure were watching him. Over the next few weeks, they met a few more times at the meadow. They discovered that, so long as it was at twilight or during the night, she could enter the meadow if human Harry brought her in with him. They would talk about all kinds of things together, but morning always came, cutting their conversations short. Hadrian's suspicions about Sable being followed were confirmed the day he was nearly captured by the vampires tailing her. They'd gotten a hold of him and were carrying him back to the clan when he shadow-traveled to another part of the forest. This hadn't actually solved his problem: vampires were creatures of darkness just like Reapers, and because they were holding onto him, they came with.

Seeing their surprise, Harry got another idea; he did it again, this time traveling to the cave with the Hebridean Black dragon. Said dragon was not pleased to have have three puny humanoids enter her home and roared her disapproval. A dragon's roar contained magical qualities, as wizards had discovered: namely, they induced overwhelming fear in all but the least intelligent of creatures. The vampires released him and began running for their lives at speeds too fast to keep track of: Harry shadow-traveled back to the meadow just in time to avoid being barbecued. They hadn't had any close calls since then, although Sable still wanted to know how he'd used Shadowmancy.

At the moment, though, Harry had other concerns: with exams coming up in a few months, Hermione was getting onto the warpath, and while Harry could calm her down usually, she still insisted that they begin preparing for every possible question. Draco had been less than pleased by this attitude, but his grumblings were largely ignored. As February marched on, and the snow began to melt, the Quidditch season started back up in earnest, and soon enough, the Slytherin-Ravenclaw match was just around the corner...

—_February 22, 1992—_

Hadrian Potter was fuming; incidentally, Draco Malfoy was a dead man.

Today was the day of the Slytherin-Ravenclaw Quidditch match. So far, the game was fairly even, despite the rougher-than-necessary playing style employed by the Slytherin team. So far, the score was 180 to 160 in favor of Ravenclaw. The slight lead the Ravens had held for half the game had enraged one of the Slytherin beaters to the point of taking a powerful shot at the Ravenclaw chasers as they began a formation.

Unfortunately for Bole, the Beater in question, the Chasers were already scattering and avoided the Bludger. The reason they had scattered was because Terrence Higgs, the 7th year Slytherin Seeker, was diving after the Snitch, and had been on a collision course with the opposing Chasers. The Bludger slammed into Higgs, almost knocking him off of his broom. Dazed as he was, he was unable to avoid plowing into the ground and suffered further injury.

A timeout was called and Madame Hooch flew down to the injured player. After several seconds of looking him over, he was deemed too injured to play and was escorted from the field. Now Slytherin was in trouble: their Seeker was injured, and their usual alternate was in the Hospital Wing from an accident in Transfiguration earlier in the week. After talking with his teammates, Marcus Flint, the Slytherin Captain, flew over to the green and silver section of the crowds and asked who was great on a broom. A few people volunteered, but must have seemed to nervous while doing so, because Flint kept asking for someone who could fly well.

That's when Draco volunteered Harry, on the grounds that his father had been a legend on the pitch in his time, both as a Seeker and a Chaser. Flint had dragged Harry to the changing room, amidst protests from the Gryffs and Ravens, all the while explaining the basics of Quidditch to the first year. So now Harry had been handed Higgs' broom and a spare jersey and was being brought out to the pitch.

Entering the stadium, the crowd gave him a mixture of contempt, disdain, support, and pride. As he mounted his borrowed broom, he began reviewing what Flint had told him. "At this point, we need to catch the Snitch to win. This not only wins this match, but drastically improves our chances of winning the Cup. Avoid the Bludgers and the Ravenclaw Beaters and you should be fine. The Snitch is very small, but very reflective, so look for glints of light where there shouldn't be any. We won't let them get far enough ahead to beat us, so all you have to do is catch the Snitch, and we're set."

Madam Hooch's whistle blew and the game began again with earnest. Harry, having watched the previous games, began circling the stadium from high above the playing field, searching for the Snitch. As he did so, he realized he had an advantage: before he had gone to Diagon Alley, he had still need glasses to see, because he was so far-sighted that anything closer than a few meters was a blur. Once his eyes had been fixed, He had been able to see things up close without aid (such as reading books) but his far sight was still unaffected and as good as ever.

The Ravens didn't make it easy for him. the Beaters came after him almost exclusively, and he got nicked in the side once by a Bludger before he figured out how to dodge properly. Despite this, it was several minutes later he saw it: a slight shimmering near the base of the Slytherin goals, right after Flint had scored, making it "190 TO 200, RAVENCLAW'S FAVOR," according to Lee Jordan who, as always, was commentating.

He began accelerating towards it before stopping himself: Cho Chang, the Ravenclaw Seeker, was much closer than he was and would get to the prize ages before he did. Changing his tactics, he stopped circling and dived towards Bole, who saw him coming and moved out of the way. Chang, who noticed this, chased after him without looking to see where the Snitch actually was, assuming he'd spotted it. He changed directions again, curving his path slightly to begin climbing once more; Chang was hot on his trail. As he began leveling out and she got right behind him, he pointed the nose of his broom and began free-falling after the nonexistent Snitch.

A hush had fallen over the crowd as they watched the two Seekers diving straight down, one just behind the other. Most of the players had stopped too; Flint had taken this opportunity to score a few times without anyone noticing but the enchanted scoreboard. As the ground got closer and closer, Harry suddenly pulled up as hard as he could, his timing perfect (the grass of the pitch skimmed his boots as he continued flying parallel to the ground. Chang hadn't quite reacted in time to completely avoid hitting the ground, but she had bounced off and continued flying. It was obvious from how she was flying that she was still recovering from the blow, a fact Hadrian wasted no time in exploiting.

Flying straight towards the Slytherin goals, he saw the Snitch had a bit farther up from where he'd last seen it, but was otherwise still there. As he closed in on it, the Snitch attempted to dodge to his right but Harry stretched out and caught it before swerving to avoid hitting the thick metal pole. The crowd exploded with noise: many cheering, some booing, but all in awe of the superb skill shown by the last minute substitution. The final score was 390 to 200, with Slytherin winning.

The party later that night was loud and riotous; many of the Slytherins kept coming over and thanking him, or congratulating him. A few asked where he'd learned to attempt a Wronski Feint so well, to which he replied he'd never heard of the move and what he'd done had seemed like a good bluff at the time. Hermione arrived later and Draco came out of dorm after Harry spent nearly an hour promising not to curse him for the stunt he'd pulled, and the three of them began enjoying themselves, talking to some of the older students, particularly the Quidditch team, about different plays and moves they'd seen during the game. All in all, the night was perfect.

"Oi, Potter!" Well, almost perfect.

Terrence Higgs had arrived, and the room quieted down as he called Harry out. The older student had broken five ribs that day and was covered in bruises. His dark brown hair was styled into spikes as usual, and his deep blue eyes were boring holes into the First year who had replaced him. Harry noted that he was leaning on the crutch supported under his left arm; presumably, he'd torn a muscle in his crash landing, something that magical healing couldn't quite fix instantly.

"You listening to me Potter?" the older boy called out as he began limping forward, all eyes drawn towards him. He stopped just in front of Harry, who could smell the potions on his breath. "Bet you think you're something special, don't you Potter?" he hissed.

"Yes, quite, actually. What of it?" Harry asked nonchalantly.

This seemed to enrage to boy. "You're not special, you're just another snot-nosed little firstie. I've been the Seeker for five years now and I've always caught the Snitch. So now, after one game where I get knocked out—by my own teammate, no less—Flint comes to the Hospital Wing and tells me that, until he says otherwise, you're gonna be the new Seeker. I earned that position. I EARNED IT!" he shouted suddenly. Harry discretely drew his wand.

"So here's what's gonna happen," Higgs said, not noticing the looks he was getting, "You're gonna turn down the position, so that I get to be Seeker. Then it's not my problem anymore. If you refuse, I'll duel you here and now, and when I wipe the floor with you, everyone will know how pathetic you really are." Harry snickered at this. "What's so funny?"

"Just you," Harry replied. "You have five broken ribs and...what is it, a torn Achilles tendon!" Terrence nodded reluctantly. "And you're going to duel me? You can barely walk or move, much less dodge. It'd hardly be a difficult fight. Despite what you may believe, Terrence, I don't hate you and I don't want to see you humiliated in front of the entire house by losing a duel to a first year. I mean, pretty much the only thing more pathetic than losing to a first year is losing to a baby, but really how often does someone duel an infant and lose?" he finished.

Terrence sneered "You just got lucky against the Dark Lord, Potter! And I'll prove by beating you here and now. I, Terrence Higgs, Heir to the Ancient House of Higgs, declare that you have dishonored me and demand an Honor Duel, with everyone here acting as witnesses to your treachery. Do you accept?"

Harry narrowed his eyes; to accept meant dueling a 7th year student—a heavily injured one, but still. Declining, however, meant a loss of the respect that he'd spent months building up. Deciding for a neutral option he said "Should I accept, what are the rules of engagement, terms of victory, and spoils?"

The older boy smirked. "Anything legal, first one unconscious loses, and fealty to the winner."

Harry contemplated for a moment. Draco called out "You don't have to accept, Harry."

"No," Harry replied. "I think I must. Very well: I, Lord Hadrian James Potter of the Most Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter, accept your challenge to an Honor Duel, as per the rules and conditions you have specified. So I have spoken, so mote it be." A flash of light enveloped Harry and Terrence briefly, signifying that their duel was official in the eyes of magic.

Terrence was very pale, having processed Harry's words. "B-but you have to be at least fifteen to claim even the position of heir."

"Unless," Harry replied, smirking, "You are the last true member of your House, in which case you can claim the majority of the privileges and duties that come with being a Head of House—including a less limited list of what is and isn't legal in an Honor Duel. Shall we begin?" Terrence nodded, before limping towards the center of the room, with Harry following. The students began clearing the center of the room, making a large open area for them to duel in. Hermione attempted to talk Harry out of it but he calmly told her that he was already committed to follow it through before continuing to the center of the room.

After a few minutes, everything was ready. It had been decided that Flint would serve as referee; he called out "Bow to your opponent!" Harry bowed low, making sure to keep eye contact with his opponent. Terrence, recognizing the snub to his skill for what it was (it implied Harry had nothing to fear from him) barely inclined his head in his anger. "turn and march to ten paces!" Flint called out. Turning, Harry took a step every time Flint called out the next number as he thought over his situation.

"One." His first disadvantage was obvious: the difference in age and education. Higgs had six more years of instruction than Harry did. "Two." On the other hand, he was considered an average student, whereas Hadrian was the top or near the top in every class. Harry knew more spells than he had a right to, considering his age. "Three." The next factor was legality: as an Heir to an Ancient House, Higgs could get away with using more spells than the average student could. "Four." Here, however, Harry had the advantage: as the Head of a Most Ancient and Most Noble House, he had legally use nearly twice as many spells as Terrence could.

"Five." Harry also had the advantage of health, since Higgs could barely walk and would have difficulty maneuvering. "Six." Harry also was better equipped, what with his wand being nearly perfectly attuned to him and naturally powerful, his dragon hide shirt and pants, his Acromantula silk robes, and his Invisibility Cloak. "Seven." He also had his shadow traveling, which wasn't illegal simply because it was so rare, there was no rule against it. "Eight."

"Reducto!" Harry felt a spell impact his back, but between the Acromantula silk, nearly unbreakable, and the dragon hide underneath it, he was virtually unharmed, perhaps a bruise. Turning, he began casting the spell chain Snape had shown them in class: the Duelist's Hello. "Silencio, Expelliarmus, Incarcerous," Harry whispered, snapping off the three spells. Terrence, seeing what he was doing, raised a light red shield, smirking. The first spell reflected back at Harry, although the shield looked a bit cracked, and Harry just barely ducked under it. The Expelliarmus was designed to rip objects from the target's hands and had much more power as a result: the shield shattered, to Terrence's surprise, and the Incarcerous hit him dead on, wrapping him tightly in ropes.

Higgs struggled for a moment before casting Finite on himself. The time lost, however, had put him on the defensive: Harry was sending a steady stream of prank hexes at the older boy, letting his natural power ram the spells into the shield Terrence had raised, this time a bright blue one. It apparently required more concentration on Higgs' part, because he was unable to go on the offensive until Harry had to pause to catch his breath.

Terrence took this chance to begin raining down curses on Harry: Reductor Curses, the Disarming Hex, the Jelly-Legs Jinx, and many more; the older boy was really working up a sweat trying to hit Harry with just one, who was dodging around, the spells seeming slow after dodging Bludgers earlier. The 7th year paused for a moment, as if to reconsider his strategy, when Harry cried "Lumos Maxima!"

From the end of his came a light so bright, it temporarily blinded the Slytherins who had been looking. Many of the older students, including Higgs, unfortunately, were able to turn away in time. When they looked back, Harry was gone.

Terrence started laughing. "Looks like he's run away. As per the rules covering Honor Duels, I win since my opponent has left the dueling area."

"but I didn't leave the area, Higgs," a voice said, coming from a few feet behind him. He spun around, a curse on his lips, only to see no one there. "A Ventriloquy spell, Potter? Stop hiding and fight me!"

"Confundus," the disembodied voice spoke, coming from behind him. Before he could shield, he was hit by the spell and forgot what was going on for a second. "Expelliarmus," the voice came, this time from near the fireplace. His wand flew from his hand just as his senses were returning.

He was angry now. "Give me back my wand, Potter," he roared, brandishing his crutch like a sword before quickly positioning it so as not to fall over.

"Or you'll what...curse me?" the voice said, still coming from near the fireplace. "With what...this?" A hand appeared briefly, holding a small stick, which it proceeded to throw into the fireplace before disappearing once more. Higgs gasped before hobbling over to the fireplace, trying to retrieve his burning wand. "Stupefy," came the voice one last time, knocking the older boy out before he could burn himself. With a slight flourish, Hadrian appeared, as if pulling himself out of thin air, before using "Mobilicorpus" to float the 7th year over to the couch. "Reenervate."

Terrence woke up and, upon seeing Potter, roared and charged at him, only to fall flat on his face without his crutch. Harry watched him try to struggle to his feet, before he called out "Wingardium Leviosa." The older boy's body floated several inches into the air, making his struggles useless. Letting his disdain for his opponent show, Harry said "Oh, stop. You lost, I won, fair and square."

"You cheated!" Higgs yelled, still struggling.

Harry's eyes hardened. "I followed the rules as set down by both the ICW regarding duels, the English Ministry of Magic regarding duels, and he pureblood etiquette rules regarding Honor Duels. As the only rules you set were that it had to be legal, I followed the rules and fought with honor. You cursed me before the count of ten was reached, against the laws set by both the ICW and the Ministry. I could have called the duel then and there when you cheated and the duel would have been over without me having to use a single spell. I decided to let it go and beat you with magic, rather than hiding behind the law. That's not my problem, but yours. You now owe me fealty, as does the Ancient House of Higgs." His speech finished, he dismissed the spell, dropping Terrence onto the couch. Walking over to the fireplace he reached in and picked out the wand he'd thrown in, which was completely unharmed.

Walking back over to Terrence, he said "The Flame-Freezing Spell is quite useful, and always a good spell to cast on your wand when you get the chance. You are predictable, rash, and prone to emotional outbursts. Look before you leap, and don't be afraid to think outside the box. This is not the behavior of a Slytherin or a Head of House...or a Vassal. Do not give me a reason to reprimand you for failing to live up to expectations. Are we clear?" he finished, holding out the older boy's wand to him.

Terrence eyed him, before grasping his wand. "Yes...my Lord."

"Good," Harry said, turning to leave. He returned to his friends' sides and continued the conversation Higgs' arrival had interrupted. Slowly, the party began going again, and was back in full swing soon enough, although many were still eying Harry and Terrence for reasons unknown. Eventually, the students began trickling back into their dorms, until finally there was only Terrence was left, still sitting on the couch, a thoughtful look gracing his face. After a while, he too went to bed, leaving an empty, silent common room in his wake.

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><p>A.N.: So...a Quidditch match, a fight scene, an epic prank, and an attempted shotgun wedding, vampire-style. There should be two more chapters in this book of Hadrian's story. Please read and review, otherwise it can't get better.<p> 


	10. Test Time

A.N.: Hello, and welcome to another installment of Hadrian Potter: Darkness Rising! I realize it's been quite some time since my last update, but in my defense, I've had the beginning of the new school year and GenCon to deal with since then. Below are the reviews I've received that have warranted a response. I do not own Harry Potter or the universe he lives in: if I did, I wouldn't be wasting time in school when I already have billions, I would be out there enjoying life.

_**gster391**: As I said, I wasn't happy with how the chapter turned out, so I added a lot more details. The dragon thing is something I got from D&D: dragons, unlike other fearsome predators, are highly magical, to the point that their roars are magical fear effects. So I can't claim credit for that. I can work it into my story, though, and I like how it works._

_In regards to the Twilight question, I will not even acknowledge the Cullens in my story; my story has nothing to do with Twilight, and doing so would only detract from my stories plot. I will, however, take this opportunity to state my opinion on the Twilight Saga._

_It didn't suck._

_I know, I know, grab your torches and pitchforks, but I read the books, and I can't bring myself to hate them. They were well-written and had an interesting plot. Did I dislike the version of vampires and werewolves in there that completely ignore previous ideas regarding them? Yes, but vampires, like Harry Potter, are not real, and so anyone can write vampires and give them new quirks or problems; for all I know, they actually sparkle in the sunlight. So long as it's interesting to read, I'll try it, and I will judge it based on its own merits, rather than my preconceived notions of the genre. I went in, knowing full well that these were not the vampires I was used to reading about, but I read Twilight anyway, and it turned out not to be a complete waste of time._

_I am not, however, a fan of the series. I was on team "Don't Give a Shit". The fact is that, while these books are not badly written and do not have a terrible plot, they are obviously written to satisfy the angst-loving, romantic, mainstream middle-school girls portion of the population. I appreciate angst much less now than I did in middle school; I do not care for romantic stories, which is why what little romance you'll see in my story will seem lacking or forced. I've always been a bit of a social outcast, and my popular culture knowledge is lacking at best. I am not a middle school age kid, although I was at one point. I have not, and never have been, a girl. All this adds up to show that the Twilight Saga was not written for someone like me._

_That being said, the movies were awful. What little of the books appealed to me was broken into tiny pieces in the maximum 30 minutes I wasted watching the first one. When the vampire is the more expressive and human-feeling of the two main actors, you know you're going to have a bad time._

_To reiterate: decent books. Terrible movies._

_**znerom**: Hermione is a friend of Harry, but not quite the most loyal follower yet: she still clings to a bit of her early childhood trust in authority, and Harry is the kind of person who skates by with breaking the rules often enough to make her a bit uncomfortable. Her trust in authority will never be shattered, but Harry will be an authority figure in her mind by the end of the next chapter, while Dumbledore will have fallen even further._

_The vassal-type slavery, as you called it, will only show up rarely in my story at the level it did with Terrence. He was confident in his ability to beat a first year in a duel and tried to make a play for the service of the Most Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter, one of the most influential houses there is. Harry showed his prowess, and now has a vassal bound by magic._

_There will be other vassal houses, but they will be gained through trust and loyalty, like the original vassals, rather than this brute force method of magically enforced oaths. Those will happen, though. Life Debts will exist, some like Sable's, but some not. It should prove interesting._

_**Schnuff**: First, the required sarcasm: What's this? An intelligent counter-argument? With a historical example? On the INTERNET?!_

_Now that that's out of the way, you're right about Slytherin being politically motivated, but it works the other way, too: not only do they view him as the enemy for being the Boy-Who-Lived, but because he was sorted into Slytherin, they know he'll be looking to manipulate them. They'll have known he's Lord Potter, even before he announced it, by virtue of his familial state: no other living family members means lordship at eleven. His announcement confirms this. He's also the Boy-Who-Lived, with the prestige and fans that come with that title. In summary, he's a political opponent, and enemy, and a threat, and the upper years know it. The 4th years and down (and some of the 5th years from slightly lighter houses) will be more accepting, but he has to appear to be trying to make friends, rather than political allies; while they'll respect him more for making allies, it'll also make them more wary to accept his "friendship" when they know he's looking for political power. It's a delicate game he's playing, the results of which I've discussed in this chapter. Year three will be as much about the political games being played as they will be about Sirius' breakout (yes, yes, spoiler alert)._

_Don't get me wrong: he's building political connections. Most of it is happening behind the scenes. Once again, this will change drastically come third year, where Harry will have built up enough power to start opposing Dumbles. On a personal note, your reviews so far have been insightful and well-thought-out; they've made me think quite a bit about where my story is going. They are exactly the type of review I need as a budding author. Please keep it up._

_**rpgaff2**: Flint and the other chasers scored several times during the chase scene; the score is correct. I just didn't want to interrupt the action by announcing the score change._

To answer the various questions/reviews/rants about the romance, yet I know it's seems forced a bit, but that's the most realistic I can make it. Is it a bit fast? Yes. But only a bit. One kiss when they originally talk about it. One kiss on Valentine's Day. Nothing more yet. Regarding the harem questions, I have not decided if this story will ultimately be H/Hr, or H/multi. The reason for this is that, in regards to the overall plot, it make little difference. If I did decide to make this a harem story, the girls involved would have already been romantically interested in Harry and would've already been very close friends. The distinctions between very close friend, girlfriend, and lover are so nit-picky that they will not have very much effect on the plot.

And now, on with the story. This chapter gets us to the last week of school, as Harry's second semester is rather boring overall. Please read and review!

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><p>Chapter 9: Test Time<p>

—_May 4, 1992—_

Hadrian Potter was walking towards the Quidditch stadium, his newly purchased Comet 300 clutched in one hand. Okay, so technically, it had been purchased by Marcus, but it was using Harry's money, and he'd only had the older boy do it to get around the 'first years aren't allowed personal brooms' rule, so that didn't really matter. Today was the Quidditch Final: Slytherin vs Gryffindor.

The months since the last match had been a bit hectic from a certain standpoint: Hermione had both Harry and Draco working hard on studying for their exams, while she bypassed them easily in her knowledge of the subjects they'd been learning. From Harry's point of view, however, things had been rather quiet: no detentions in the forest, no vampires kidnapping him, no baby dragons, and no Dark Lords masquerading as professors. Harry had actually been allowed by the universe to just be a student for a few months. He'd become a much more active member of Hermione's study group, which grew every week or so, and he was the best or second best in all of his classes.

All this had happened despite the additional time spent practicing Quidditch with the team: Harry and Marcus were both aware of how taxing the game could be on a person and knew, had the match against Ravenclaw lasted longer than it did, Harry would have been too tired to look for the Snitch, much less catch it. So the team had been busy doing an all-around training in preparation for the match against Gryffindor. Marcus had explained the problem they faced to Harry: while the Ravens were an all around good team, they had no real strengths; this had landed them a total of 540 points in their three matches, Hufflepuff, whose only decent player was the Seeker, Cedric Diggory, had a total of 390 points. Slytherin was currently at 700 points even; their team, with Marcus leading the Chasers, two powerful Beaters, A very talented Keeper, and Harry as Seeker, were a team with many strengths and few weaknesses.

The problem was the Gryffindor team. In their first two matches, they had managed to get 740 points...without catching the Snitch. The Keeper and Team Captain, Oliver Wood, was considered to be the best keeper to come to Hogwarts since the 60's; he was likely to get signed onto a Quidditch team straight out of school. The three chasers, a pair of third years and a second year (all girls) were small, fast, and frighteningly good at coordinating themselves. Already, they'd developed a reputation as the "Crimson Vixens", as all three were quite attractive and looked like they'd continue appearing so for years to come. It was rumored that they could communicate without speaking, ridiculous, of course. The Beaters were said to do something similar: Fred and George Weasley, the Twin Terrors, seemed to always work together to take down a target in ways not many could match. What's more, they had a great deal of accuracy: they could hit a Bludger just right to get it to streak clear across the field to hit an opponent in just the right way so as to send them flying in the wrong direction.

The only weak point was the Seeker: a second year with a lot of mouth named Cormac McLaggen. He was quite large for a second year, not at all fitting into the Seeker stereotype, but he was apparently the best Gryffindor could muster this year. This turned out to be an advantage for the Gryffs: with the rest of the team as good as they were, they could rack up points for a long time to the point that it didn't matter who caught the Snitch. This was why Marcus was running the team into the ground practicing: They needed Harry to catch the Snitch as quickly as possible in order to win the Quidditch Cup. The only real problem with Cormac was that he had a Nimbus 2000, the fastest broom currently on the market. Harry, meanwhile, would be using a Comet 300, a good all-around broom: handling, acceleration, top speed, braking...it had few strong points, but wasn't lacking anything in particular, unlike the Nimbus, which, while it's speed and acceleration were unmatched, couldn't corner very well.

All of this was going through Harry's mind as he made his way out of the locker rooms onto the field; as Seeker, he was last to do so. As the doors opened, the roar of the crowd hit him like a tidal wave of sound, blotting out his own thoughts. Incredibly, he could hear the commentator announcing the Slytherin team. Following Bole out onto the field, Harry's eyes took a second to adjust to the brightness: there wasn't a single cloud in the sky. With no breeze to throw them off course, and no weather to distract them, they couldn't have asked for more perfect playing conditions. They all followed Marcus out the middle of the field, where Madame Hooch was waiting, the Quaffle tucked under her left arm, her broom in hand. She was wearing black flying robes, unlike the two teams, whose robes were color-coordinated for their house, and a whistle hung on a cord around her neck.

"Now I want a nice clean game. From all of you," she said, seeming to direct the last bit at the Slytherins, who seemed indifferent to the not-so-subtle warning. "Captains," she said "Shake hands." Wood and Flint walked towards each other, and quickly grasped hands. It seemed they were trying to crush each other's hand, although who had initiated was anybody's guess. On Madame Hooch's signal, fifteen brooms rose into the air until they were all a good 16m off of the ground. With a sharp tweet of her whistle, she tossed the Quaffle up into the air, sending a spell at the trunk that released the Bludgers and Snitch. Harry swerved upwards, climbing steadily while McLaggen tried to chase the Snitch; he ended up colliding with Angelina, who pushed him away in annoyance.

This proved to be enough of a distraction for Marcus to seize the Quaffle and start flying towards the Gryffindor goals, which Wood, on his Cleansweep 260, with its slow top speed, but quick acceleration and brake, hadn't reached quite yet. Marcus feinted just as the Gryff turned around, and Wood moved to block the right goal, only to watch the Quaffle rocket through the left one.

"AND SLYTHERIN IS THE FIRST TO SCORE, BRINGING IT TO 10-0 IN SLYTHERIN'S FAVOR!" Lee Jordan shouted into the magical microphone, his voice booming across the field. "AND SLYTHERIN REGAINS POSSESSION WITH—OH, THAT WAS A NICE HIT BY ONE OF THE WEASLEY TWINS! GRYFFINDOR IN POSSESSION!" At this point, Harry only stopped watching the game and began searching for the Snitch. Every few minutes, he'd glance at the scoreboard, which confirmed what Flint had told him: the Gryffindors were, after that first goal, almost constantly ahead. To their credit, though, the Slytherin team made sure they always kept within a few goals, so that they could win. Harry noticed, with no small amount of annoyance, that Cormac was tailing him not even looking for the Snitch.

Just as Lee was announcing "AND THAT MAKES IT 80-110 IN FAVOR OF GRYFFINDOR!" Harry had an idea of how to use this. Continuing his search, he waited until McLaggen was right behind him to suddenly dive down, rapidly reaching his top speed. He could here Cormac cursing behind him, always getting closer, as he had the faster broom. "IT LOOKS LIKE HADRIAN POTTER HAS SEEN THE SNITCH!" Lee announced to the stadium, most of whom had already noticed. Harry ignored the crowd and focused on the ground, pulling up at the last second. He could hear the other Seeker yelp loudly before he plowed into the ground, unable to turn out of the way. "AND THAT WAS A WELL-EXECUTED WRONSKI FEINT BY POTTER!" Lee said, his disappointment obvious. While Wood was gaping at his Seeker, Adrian Pucey took a shot and scored just before Madame Hooch blew the time-out whistle; the goal was noticed only by the scoreboard, which Lee noticed and called out the new score.

Harry quickly climbed back up to his previous height and used the time that Madame Hooch was looking over McLaggen to search for the Snitch. Unfortunately, he saw no sign of the small flying sphere by the time the Gryff Seeker stood back up. The referee whistle went off once more, and the game resumed. McLaggen resumed his strategy of "follow the snake", a fact that Harry took advantage of. Over the next two hours of play, Harry pulled off over half a dozen more Wronski Feints. While he didn't get McLaggen to crash into the ground again (although he did force him to fly through the Gryff Chaser formation closing in on Bletchly), McLaggen finally stopped following Harry every time he took off...exactly what Harry wanted. After over three hours of play, Harry finally saw the Snitch hovering in the center of the field.. Glancing at the scoreboard, he saw it was 240-260 in favor of Gryffindor: if he caught the Snitch now, Slytherin won the cup. Waiting until his figure eight search pattern had him directly over his target, he dived once more.

"AND POTTER ATTEMPTS YET ANOTHER WRONSKI FEINT," Lee announced, his boredom at the predictable move obvious. Suddenly a Bludger came at Harry from the right, which he dodged: it appears that one of the twins had seen the Snitch too. McLaggen, realizing the significance, chased after him again, but he was too far behind: by the time Lee had redacted his previous statement, Harry had the Snitch in his hand. The scoreboard was flashing 390-260: Slytherin had won the match and the Quidditch Cup. Harry had to dodge Cormac as he free-fell to earth atop his broom. Whether he had been trying to hit Harry or not was irrelevant: they had won and Harry was that much more liked by the Slytherin crowd. He hadn't lost any support, either: Fred and George were quite easy-going, and half of what went wrong there at the end was McLaggen's fault anyway. As Slytherin House swept out onto the field, Harry allowed himself a moment to bask in the adoration before reining in his narcissistic behavior.

The party that night was even more raucous than the previous one. It was shorter-lived, however, as Professor Snape reminded them that they actually had class in the morning. It died down quickly, and people started going to bed. Hermione had dropped by just before curfew to congratulate him on the victory and to remind him of the study group session coming up. After a quick exchange of "Good night"s, she left, and Harry went to sleep, tired from the day's exertions.

May passed by quickly, leading into June. As the final exams crept ever closer, Hermione became more and more single-minded in her quest to read all possible relevant material. Harry usually accompanied her, if only to assure her that she already possessed the knowledge to pass.

"But Harry, that's not the point of school," Hermione said frustratedly as she slammed yet another book closed and picked up a new one from her stack. "The point is to try your best at everything! We're not here to just pass these courses, we're here to get a magical education. I'm not doing this because I think it matters for the test: I'm doing it because I want to know the basics of all of our subjects so that I can work with the higher level stuff and not be lost." Here, she put down the thick tome about the strengths and weaknesses of various creatures to look at him. "If someone just went to school to pass the classes, they're not really learning anything. They won't retain the information. They'll have wasted their own time, and there won't be another chance after they leave school to learn, and they'll spend the rest of their lives regretting it."

"Well, of course," Harry said. "School isn't a place invented by adults just to waste kids' time: it's an attempt to teach them the skills necessary for real life and the jobs or careers they get along the way. That being said, education isn't the only thing that's going on right now: this is the only time in your life you have to be a child, to learn social skills. Sure, education is important...just don't forget to live in the process. School is important, but like you said, it isn't everything: real life comes next, and we need to be prepared, both academically and socially." Hermione looked pensive at this for a moment, before returning to her book. Harry glanced at the stack of books before continuing. "And while studying ahead to avoid falling behind is good and all, I doubt you _need _to be reading O.W.L. level material in your first year," he said with a slight smirk, which grew a little bit at her quick blush.

"So, are you still coming to the study group session next week?" Hermione asked, in an obvious attempt at changing the subject. "We're talking about physical defensive techniques at the moment—little prank spells that can trip up your opponent in odd ways. So far, the Weasley twins have made a lot of contributions...come to think of it, they also seemed to be getting some evil ideas from some of the things they've heard the past few sessions, so someone should probably make sure they keep their experiments with some of that under control."

"Of course I'll be coming," Hadrian said. "Nothing more important has come up, and it's a great opportunity to make...friends," he said; his hesitation was almost missed by Hermione, who was so focused on her reading, she almost didn't hear it. She narrowed her eyes briefly before rolling them and returning to her book: Harry had made it clear that he was going half because Hermione had asked him to, and half because it was a good opportunity to make new friends out of the children who would grow up to be politically powerful; her little study group had grown quickly, and included several such members.

"Just be sure you arrive on time," she said, turning the page and taking a quick note. "We won't be waiting on you to start, okay? Some people," she said, in a mock-uptight voice "Are there to learn, as shocking as that may be." Harry gave her a small smile for her little joke before nodding and packing up his own books, bidding her goodbye.

—_June 8, 1992—_

Hadrian Potter walked briskly down the hall to the library—against all expectations, he was actually running a bit late: he'd gotten drawn into an argument between Draco and Theodore, something about dragons versus Nundus, and had lost track of the time. Arriving just in time to slip in, he took an empty seat where he could find one. Harry glanced around to take a quick headcount: having sat in on a few sessions prior to today's, he knew quite a few of the regular members, at least by sight: there were several Hufflepuffs, including Susan Bones, her best friend Hannah Abbott, and Ernie Macmillan, and for the most part, they were evenly spread throughout the room, chatting with whoever was nearest, making friends. There were a couple of Gryffindor boys—Neville, Seamus, and...Dean, he wanted to say—talking to each other near the back, being a bit rowdy, but more controlled than Weasley seemed capable of being. Harry was thankful the redhead had been banned in a previous session for being a general nuisance.

Daphne Greengrass, Tracy Davis, and Blaise Zabini were over in one corner, talking a bit, but mostly watching everyone else; they were likely here for the same reason Harry was. Finally, the majority of the first year Ravenclaws were present, just as Harry had predicted: Terry Boot, Lisa Turpin, Padma Patil, Michael Corner, Anthony Goldstein, all of them near the front, and most with a book out, a good number holding a halfhearted conversation with a 'Puff.

As the session was called to order and the students got into the swing of things, Harry figured out what Hermione had meant: the defensive techniques she had referred to were mostly thinking of new and unusual ways to use spells against one's opponent. The first hour was spent just discussing things: people would throw out an idea and a short debate would take place on its usefulness. The second half was spent pairing up for five minutes before switching partners. Hermione,who lead the club, had decided on random name drawings to ensure that everyone would get to meet everyone else over the course of several sessions: so far, it had worked well.

Today's topic of discussion was about using the items in the general vicinity to your advantage. The first suggestion was enchanting or transfiguring small objects to harass your opponent while you dueled to distract them. It turned out to be a good idea: it required a small amount of skill and power to pull off, and would get your opponent to waste time destroying them or disenchanting them. The flip side, however, was that it would waste your time if you did it when you didn't have the upper hand; it made for a good starting attack if you had the drop on a superior opponent and didn't want to kill. It was further suggested to use your opponent's possessions or clothes when doing such a thing. This was rejected, as such a spell would target your opponent, who would be able to shield against it easily; if you could put it in a spell chain that included a shield breaker, though: it would be quite effective.

Someone suggested transfiguring the floor into a jelly to ensnare them, but this was dismissed as too taxing on the caster to be really useful. When it was suggested to cast a spell to make to floor slippery, the Ravenclaws found that such a spell already existed and that it was relatively easy to cast and wasn't too draining. The final idea was summoning your opponent's shoes: it didn't require you to hit your opponent, and if enough power was put into it, it would easily trip them. Daphne suggested a combination of the two ideas: a specialized summoning spell that would pull on a specific item of clothing on their opponent's person in a manner that would be quite distracting. And that was how Professor McGonagall found them: spread through the library, looking up various relevant texts in order to invent the Atomic Wedgie Curse.

She reminded them that they needed to get to bed soon: they had been so focused on the idea of such a spell that the session had gone on for far longer than originally scheduled, and it was almost curfew. The students reluctantly put away the various books they were perusing and split off to their common rooms. Hermione gave Harry a quick "Good bye," before practically running back to Gryffindor Tower to avoid getting detention. Harry, meanwhile, accompanied Daphne, Tracy, and Blaise back to their common room, bidding them good night. He'd made some good progress tonight.

Over the next month, they had three more meetings; they finished developing the spell in the very next meeting, before the focus became studying for the upcoming exams. A few Ravenclaw sixth year prefects were asked for assistance in setting up study stations, each for a different class at different tables. The three two-hour sessions were spent going from one station to the next in whatever order you felt like. Harry, having read ahead quite a bit, was confident in his abilities at magical theory and instead spent the time building up budding relationships with the more politically important members. Over time, he made several new friends, who would hopefully be helpful in the political war it appeared he would have to fight with Dumbledore.

You see, Hadrian had once again been contacted by his Gringotts account manager regarding the Sirius Black issue: when the issue had been raised in the Wizengamot, it had been immediately shot down by Dumbledore, who had presented a good argument for leaving Sirius Black in prison. Harry had tracked down the official story a few months prior: apparently, a little after he was born, Dumbledore had, with Ministerial permission, set up Fidelius wards around two houses; due to the nature of the wards in question, every record of what houses were protected were blank. It was noted that shortly after this, both the Potters and the Longbottoms had disappeared from the public eye. Of course, both addresses were well known now: one was the sight of "You-Know-Who's" defeat in Godric's Hollow, and the other was where the Longbottoms were found in an almost comatose state, their minds almost completely gone from Cruciatus exposure.

The Ministry, after finding out what Harry had done to Voldemort, had made the blasted-out shell of a house into a national magical monument, forbidding anyone, even Harry, from repairing or renovating the site. They also put out a warrant for the arrest of Sirius Black, who Dumbledore said was the Potters' Secret Keeper; Sirius had been seen since the incident by Hagrid, so he hadn't been tortured for information, since the Death Eaters wouldn't torture him for information and then set him free. The Longbottoms' Secret Keeper was found in Knockturn Alley by the side of a pub and showed signs of numerous Dark curses, including the Cruciatus, and several muggle methods of torture, a sign of Bellatrix's handiwork: she often used knives or similar physical means of causing pain that didn't require magic to function. Incidentally, she and three other Death Eaters were found at the address Dumbledore provided for the Ministry torturing the Longbottoms for information on the whereabouts of the Dark Lord.

Sirius Black was next seen in a small town in Scotland, along with Peter Pettigrew, a known friend and ally of James Potter, as Sirius had been before his betrayal; they had been spotted by a number of muggles and a few witches who lived in the area. Peter shouted "James and Lily! How could you Sirius?" before going for his wand. Most accounts weren't able to see what happened exactly, but the next second, the street exploded; when the smoke had cleared, 13 muggles were dead, their bodies blown apart, there was a huge hole in the street where Peter had been standing, and the only part of Peter they could find was a finger.

It was believed that Black had cast an overpowered Blasting Hex at Pettigrew's feet, causing the explosion, although his wand was never checked for it. When the Aurors arrived, summoned by the magical witnesses, they found Black laughing like a madman. Mr. Crouch, the Head of the DMLE at the time, tossed Black into Azkaban without a trial; there was enough circumstantial evidence to convict him of the murder of Peter Pettigrew, the murder of 13 muggles, and betraying the Potters to the Dark Lord. Peter was given an Order of Merlin, 1st Class posthumously, and Harry was hidden away by Dumbledore "for his own safety" at the Dursleys, although the magical world didn't know where he was.

Harry had become suspicious when he saw Pettigrew on the map; it had otherwise never been even possibly wrong, so he wasn't sure what to think of it. He had come to the conclusion, after seeing that Peter went virtually everywhere with Ronald Weasley, that the man was disguised as the boy's pet rat. This was enough to get Harry to believe that Black might actually be innocent, if a man he was credited with killing was hiding as a rat; what innocent man hid as a rat for ten years? Anyway, with Dumbledore blocking the trial, Harry would be unable to be sure that the right man was in prison. As he wasn't on the best of terms right now, he had to build up enough support in the Wizengamot to overturn the Chief Warlock's ruling on the matter; right now, he was making the connections necessary to make political allies for life. But for now, he had to study for the upcoming exams, so Sirius Black would have to wait.

—_June 13, 1992—_

Hadrian Potter was carefully writing his last answer to the Transfiguration exam: the last one he'd have to take until next year, a fact he was glad of. The exams had been grueling: from what he could tell, except for meals, the Great Hall was constantly being used as a testing area. It was also the first time he could remember people being present at said meals who had never been there before: several aging, gray-haired witches and wizards dressed in varying states of luxury; Draco had explained that they were the test associates who handled the O.W.L. and N.E.W.T exams. Harry had briefly reflected on how little he'd interacted with the blond boy over the past few months, before realizing just how much time he'd spent studying, both with Hermione, and without.

Draco wasn't the most academically involved student: he did fairly well at all of their classes, whether theory or practical. He was not, however, extremely good at anything but Potions, a subject that seemed to come naturally to him. His attitude towards Hogwarts—namely, that it provided him with political connections first, and an education second—tended to result in Harry's mate not studying very often, choosing to play games more often than not, or just lounging around the common room. There was also only so much "Hermione the Demon" he could take in one sitting. They would all be able to do things together again after the exams were over, Harry concluded.

Here, he began musing on the tests he had taken: he had definitely aced DADA, Charms, and Transfiguration, and Potions with flying colors. He was almost two months ahead regarding theory for all the core classes, ahead of everyone except Hermione. Furthermore, he surpassed her when it came to practical magic, so he was often in the top two. Astronomy was slightly difficult, as their textbooks were based on the sky of the early 20th century; pollution made viewing the night sky correctly difficult, even in the middle of nowhere in Scotland. History of Magic was the other problem class: while Harry was able to stay awake, even with his Occlumency helping, he couldn't always keep track of which goblin general had captured which town/city/significant landmark in which year; it just all blended together at times, although he was sure he had scraped an E out of it.

As the giant hourglass resting near the podium ran out of sand in the top half, a loud boom like a cannon shot went off, startling a few students who had decided to take a nap break (like Ronald Weasley, for example). Professor McGonagall, who had been keeping a sharp eye on the first years as she paced up and down the aisles of desks, walked to the front. "May I have your attention!" she called in a manner that did not give anyone the impression that she was asking a question. "You will all receive your results via owl post during the last week of July; if you do not receive your results by that time, please contact our Head of House and they will solve the problem. The rest of the week, you will not need to attend the classes on your schedule; you may spend your time as you please, so long as you obey the school rules."

Here, her stern gaze sharpened. "As you are first years, some of you may not have been aware of this next bit: with few exceptions, it is against the law to use magic outside of Hogwarts for anyone under the age of majority; self-defense is one such exception, but you must also remember that magic is not to be used in view of muggles unaware of our world. Failure to adhere to these laws will result, if too many instances occur, in your expulsion from Hogwarts. Be sure to behave yourselves. I shall see you all at dinner tonight. You are dismissed."

Harry made his way out of the Great Hall. Most of spring had consisted of rain storms, but today it was quite nice outside. He caught Draco before he could get into an argument with Theo and suggested they take advantage of the good weather and go out to the lake. He agreed and left, while Harry went to track down Hermione. He found her muttering to herself about the various questions she had probably gotten wrong.

"Hermione," he called, an amused expression crossing his face as he saw her jump a little; it appeared he'd startled her.

"Oh, hello, Harry," she said distractedly. "Did you think that—"

"Hermione," he interrupted "We've already taken the tests. We don't need to go over them again. You and I will be in the top of the class with O's and E's, like always. Draco...well, he'll be fine. He does well enough." Hermione didn't look too sure, but then Harry said "Hermione, I was hoping you would be willing to take advantage of the nice weather to come down to the lake with me and Draco. Please try not to discuss it with him either," he asked, and he gave her a small smile when she gradually nodded. "Alright, then. Let's go," he said, and they walked out to the lake together.

The three of them spent the rest of the day playing board games, or performing magic tricks. They began playing poker; Draco was getting much better, although he still lost nearly every single time to Hermione and Harry. They threw bread to the giant squid, and talked with Fred and George when they were released from their own tests; the two of them had a couple of massive prank ideas for the end of the year feast, and they wanted help. The Silver Trio agreed when they heard the plan: it would be epic.

Later that night, as it was getting dark, Harry's pocket watch indicated that dinner would be starting soon. Hermione had some books in her room that she wished to return to the library, so she split away from them when they reached the Grand Staircase, promising to join them at the Slytherin table when she was done. Harry and Draco took their seats in the middle of the table, as usual, and began eating. As he did so, Harry discreetly looked around at the various students.

At the Gryffindor table, the Weasley twins were doing their usual performance; they were brilliant, but lazy, and had a knack for potions and charms, respectively. The twins had introduced Harry to the three Gryffindor Chasers and Lee Jordan, all of whom were decent people. Katie was Scion Bell in the pureblood community, while Alicia's older brother, the seventh year Gryff Brian Spinnet, was Heir Spinnet. Neville Longbottom, who noticed Harry's glance, gave him a small nod before returning to his own meal. The boy was in an unusual situation: while his father, the previous Lord Longbottom, wasn't able to carry out the Head of House duties, he was still technically alive, and therefore Neville was only Scion Longbottom, although most adults treated him as if his Lordship was set in stone. Harry had become the boy's friend through Hermione's study club and, although they didn't talk often, Neville seemed like he had the makings of greatness in him; Harry could sense it.

At the Hufflepuff table, many of the Puff's in his year who were on their way to being something were acquaintances of his, whether through the club or from throughout the year. Susan Bones, Hannah Abbott, Ernie Macmillan, and Zacharias Smith were all becoming good friends of the sometimes mysterious Boy-Who-Lived. He was also on good terms with quite a few older students; although few of them, such as Cedric Diggory, were politically important, they would make the next few years of students less apprehensive about him.

In the house of Ravens, he had a couple friends in the making and a few people he got along with: Michael Corner, Terry Boot, Padma Patil, Lisa Turpin, and Su Li were all in the top ten of their year, right behind Hermione and Harry (Harry was slightly worse in a couple of subjects grade-wise, but his power far outstripped his female friend's, hence his placing in the ranks).

As Harry looked around his own table at the various people in his own year who he was on good terms with, or who owed him a favor, or who owed him fealty, he gave a small smirk: Daphne Greengrass and Tracy Davis were longtime members of Hermione's study group, with Blaise having recently joined; all three seemed to be quite reserved. Harry had noticed that Daphne was especially controlled around him, and wasn't sure why, but paid it little attention. Terrence, of course, had foolishly bet his fealty and lost: he had turned 17 halfway through May and departed to Gringotts to become Lord Higgs; Harry had made sure he had a letter containing his instructions when he went.

The Quidditch team contained a couple of influential people, and there were a few first and second years who respected Harry for his obvious intelligence and skill with magic. The upper years, for the most part, had been raised on pureblood doctrine and were slow to accept Hadrian, much less respect him. the upside to this is that the majority of them still underestimated him, as Terrence had done. None had been foolish enough to openly oppose him after the way he dealt with Terrence, but the politics of Slytherin House were vast and complex enough to have him busy every other day overturning the latest rumor or blackmail, while spreading rumors of his own and collecting blackmail material through various sources. All in all, his year had been a success, academically, socially, and politically, he thought.

As dinner progressed, Harry began to wonder where Hermione was; she was taking quite a long time. Suddenly, he felt a significant amount of magic slam into him; he began to fight it, before he realized it was his own magic returning to him. This confused him because the only magic of his that should be outside his body was in the book he'd given to Hermione. Someone had overpowered the runes, forcing his magic out. "_Hermione!" _he thought as he rushed from the Great Hall. "_What happened?!"_

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><p>A.N.: So...what did you think? The next chapter will be the final chapter for this book of Hadrian Potter: Darkness Rising. Be sure to leave a review telling me your opinion on the story. Once again, I'm hoping to be posting new chapter more frequently, but it might not work out that way. Until next time, HP-DR fans!<p> 


	11. Chapter 10 (title too long to put here)

A.N.: Hello, internet, and welcome to the final installment of Hadrian Potter: Darkness Rising. The story is by no means over, though: I'll be starting a new fic for each year. This means that if you only followed the story, you won't be notified when the next story begins. An author alert will do, or you can just wait for the story to show up. I still don't own any part of the Harry Potter universe except for the concept of Hadrian and his reactions to events; actually, I suppose I own Sable as an OC as well, but that's not much anyway. I wish I owned the entire Harry Potter universe, but I don't. Please read and review (or PM me) if you have questions about the story or the background of the Hadrian Potter world. This chapter contains quite a few references to Dungeons and Dragons, which is one of the things I draw on, as well as real-world history, to add some of the details in my story that give it that extra depth. I don't own D&D anymore than I do Harry Potter.

_elguacho: Suspicious? How exactly is using my story to answer reviews suspicious? As I said before when I started doing this, I'm trying to answer the relevant reviews in a way that everyone gets the information that, otherwise, only one person would have access to._

_iowa-chef: Thanks, I was trying to go for a realistic Harry without making it the focus of the story; I try to keep the abuse and its effects as part of the background, but it isn't the center of the plot. If you're interested in that kind of story, however, I found one a couple months back called Brutal Harry which is pretty good if you like reading that kind of fic._

So here we go: the final chapter of the first book begins!

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><p>Chapter 10: Confrontations, Conversations, and Conclusions<p>

_—June 13, 1992—_

Hadrian Potter rushed through the halls, pulling out the Marauder's Map as he did. He was more than aware that, while quite powerful, his book present was not infallible. While the book itself was invulnerable, the runes were magically charged and, if overpowered, would burn out. Harry had designed the book with Dumbledore in mind: while the old man was more than capable of overpowering Harry's book runes—which measured only a small percentage of Harry's own power—doing so had a chance to seriously damage Hermione's budding mindscape. Harry didn't believe that the Headmaster was so desperate to access Hermione's mind that he would force his way in, so there was someone else involved here.

With the Marauder's Map quickly covering in ink, Harry tapped it with his wand and said "Show me Hermione." Immediately, the ink on the Map rearranged itself until Harry could see his friend's position within the castle. Currently she was making her way into...into the third floor corridor. His mind whirled momentarily when he saw the "Tom Riddle" icon that accompanied her, but it made sense: every last defense he'd placed on the book was designed to defend against, and resist, Mind Magicks. Soul Magick, such as possession, could get past it, although in that case you'd have to overpower such defenses to control the possessed individual. "Show me the path."

Harry noted, as he made his way down a secret corridor the map had just highlighted for him, that Hermione was already past the Devil's Snare. He increased his pace, worried: possession was taxing; not on the aggressor, but on the physical body of whoever they possessed. It could kick in any minute, and he knew that Riddle wouldn't care about some muggleborn's health. It also meant that Harry didn't have time to get Professor Snape or Professor McGonagall; as it was, he doubted he'd get there in time himself, what with either Fluffy or a ward placed over the corridor itself that prevented him from Shadow traveling. Harry resolved to keep himself calm: Riddle had already shown himself earlier in the year to be Voldemort. If Harry lost his temper dealing with the man, he would give him an opening. It was just another battle of wills with a Slytherin, a task Harry had grown quite used to over the past year.

Finally arriving at the corridor in question, he found the entryway door blown off its hinges. Going inside, he noticed Fluffy lying unconscious in the corridor. Despite the dog's (clearly labored) breathing, Harry suspected he'd been hit by the Killing Curse. According to Severus, it was Voldemort's preferred method of execution; it was a quick spell, got through magical shields, and required a mental state that came to the Dark Lord easily. It required, not rage or anger for your target, as most would expect, but rather, it required one to consider killing their target as no more significant than squashing a roach. It was only Fluffy's Greek heritage that saved him; while a Killing Curse could get around almost any level of magically resistant material, Cerberus were almost immune to death magic and similar spells.

He cast a cushioning charm downwards into the hole before jumping and, when he landed, immediately rolled off of it to avoid getting captured by the Devil's Snare. This turned out to be pointless, as the Devil's Snare was nothing but a pile of ash. Glad he hadn't tried to rely on the Devil's Snare breaking his fall, he continued down the chamber until he reached the key room. This time, rather than blowing apart the door, it appeared Riddle had simply removed it and its frame from the wall with some well-placed and powerful Cutting Charms that sliced straight through the stone wall like tissue paper.

Walking through, he noticed the chess pieces appeared unharmed, although considering they had repaired themselves after the only battle he'd witnessed, he doubted that meant they'd been left out of the indiscriminate destruction. He pondered how to get past them, when the pieces parted before him, bowing. Suspicious, he walked past, while wondering why they would do so. He grimaced upon entering the troll room and observed the remains of the replacement mountain troll that now covered the walls, floor, and ceiling. "And I thought they smelled bad on the outside," Harry said, smiling at his little joke. The potion room reacted the same as the last time. Hadrian, however, was unwilling to believe that Tom would have left it the way it was. He cast a poison revealing spell, only to sigh when no result came up. Sighing, he prepared for the task ahead.

Looking at the fires that engulfed the entrance and exit, he remembered his research into them: they were the patented Everburning Fire from Greece that had been invented nearly 3000 years ago by a man known to most as Prometheus. The magical side of the common Greek myth is quite ordinary: a powerful magician wanted a fire that would never go out and would always burn as hot as the fires of Hades. He had experimented for a long time before he finally succeeded in his task, creating a fire that never went out, even underwater or in high winds, and that was capable of harming any creature. It were impossible for most creatures to pass; most would die attempting it, while something like a Reaper would simply be in a lot of pain. Harry turned back to the potions; only one would get him through the black fire before him, and he couldn't depend on the clues being any help. Picking a vial at random, he raised it to his mouth and, with a short mental pep talk, drank it.

Harry's Reaper animagus form was interesting: while Harry had, with practice, consciously activated it, it had first shown itself when Harry had attempted to jump off the school roof to his death. Experimentation since then had proven what triggered it without Harry's conscious mind doing so: Harry had to be doing something that would get him killed and that he knew, without a doubt, would get him killed. So, convincing himself, using a complicated Occlumency technique, that the vial he held was deathly poison, Harry drained the bottle.

Sure enough, his vision began fading before he was suddenly viewing things from the familiar perspective of the Reaper. Changing back, he repeated this several times until it didn't happen. He felt the same strangeness he'd felt the last time he'd consumed one of these potions. He walked up and, with a deep breath, swiped his hand through the black fire. It came back unharmed. As he walked through the fire, Harry's paranoia increased: the potion to get him through the black fire was in the same bottle it had been in last time. Why would Riddle give anyone a way to follow him?

Entering the final chamber, he saw Hermione standing in front of a large, ornate mirror that sat in the middle of the room where a chest had been previously. Harry, used to Hermione's magical presence, could feel the difference in her aura; a dark taint, much like Harry's own, covered her, so powerful it was visible as a black tinge on her skin. He could her her cursing in a voice that sounded like two people talking at the same time: one her own voice, and one almost two octaves deeper.

"Thrice-damned, accursed mirror," she hissed in stereo. "Reveal the Stone to me!"

"I doubt it reacts to voice commands," Harry called out casually.

She whirled around, and he could see the veins in her head standing out clear against paler-than-normal skin, a sure sign of possession. She smiled a cruel, sadistic smile. "Potter," she said, "So good of you to join us. I did not appreciate your attempts to defeat me in the forest. But perhaps you can be allowed to live a bit longer...if you can get the Stone out of this mirror." He drew Hermione's wand faster than Harry could blink, and Harry was tied up with silk rope. Harry idly noticed how fine the braid was and appreciated the complex magic for itself before he was yanked forward to stand in front of the mirror.

Harry looked at the strange mirror, but instead of his own reflection, he saw himself...well. That was interesting. Tearing his eyes away from the image, he looked at the mirror itself and, after a cursory glance, spotted some writing. It was weird language, and he was confused for a minute, before he realized the trick. _"I show not your face, but your heart's desire,"_ Harry thought. _"How melodramatic."_

"Well?" Hermione/Riddle asked. "What do you see? Where is the Stone?"

Harry snorted. "Why do you expect me to be able to find it?"

Hermione/Riddle bristled. "Don't insult my intelligence, boy: I know how this mirror functions, and it should show you the Stone. After all, it must be your greatest desire to keep it from me, your nemesis."

"Wow," Harry said. "Someone thinks mightily high of himself. I have far more important goals than keeping you from finding a Stone—protecting Hermione, for instance."

The Dark Lord's stolen eyes narrowed. "Then you have sufficient motivation to find the Stone, then."

"I thought you said you knew how the mirror works," Harry said. "It shows me my greatest desire, which right now is saving Hermione; it doesn't show me how to go about accomplishing my fantasy. So we're stuck." The Dark Lord fumed at this. "Unless..."

"Unless what," Hermione/Riddle asked.

Harry took a deep breath, before explaining his plan. "If I were...convinced that Hermione—and myself, of course—were in no danger, my heart's desire would have been fulfilled, and the mirror might show me the Stone; it is quite interesting, and I do wish to find it, but it's not my first priority, you understand."

"And how do you propose that we guarantee the mudblood's safety?" Riddle growled.

"Impatient, are we?" Hadrian asked. "Not very impressive...if I were to make an oath to give you the Stone I find in the mirror, and you were to make a magical oath to release Hermione when you have the Stone and to not allow either of us to come to harm today from your actions, I believe I would be convinced. Of course, because of the wording required of these oaths, you would need to go first. What do you say?"

The Dark Lord pondered for a minute, before raising the wand. "I, Lord Voldemort—"

"That's not good enough," Harry interrupted. "Real name or no dice, Tom."

Hermione/Riddle looked thunderstruck. "How did you—never mind, it doesn't matter right now," he rambled. Raising the wand once more, he said "I, Tom Marvolo Riddle, swear on my life and magic, to release...Hermione Jane Granger from her possession and to not allow Hermione Jane Granger and Hadrian James Potter to come to harm as a result of my actions until the end of the day, on the provision that Hadrian James Potter agree to give me the Stone residing in the Mirror of Erised. So I have spoken, so mote it be!" A flash of dark light surrounded Hermione for a second, before disappearing. Riddle glared at Harry. "Your turn."

Harry said "Sorry: bit tied up at the moment." He wriggled a bit to make his point. His possessed friend scowled, before freeing him with a wave of her wand. Harry raised his own wand and said "I, Hadrian James Potter, Lord of the Most Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter, swear on my life and magic to give Tom Marvolo Riddle the Stone residing within the Mirror of Erised, in exchange for his own oath of freedom and safety for Hermione Jane Granger and Hadrian James Potter. So I have spoken, so mote it be." Another flash of light, this time above Harry, was visible for the briefest instant.

"And now for the Stone," Riddle said. Harry approached the mirror, well aware that his desire hadn't changed, seeing as it was still displayed on the mirror. But he could also see the ancient magic of the mirror, and where it had been altered by Dumbledore. Harry concentrated, slowly manipulating the magic so as to reach the stone. Slowly, he reached into the mirror, his hand disappearing into its surface. When he withdrew it, he held the Stone in his hand—not the real Stone, which was in his pocket, but the fake that Nickolas had given Albus the second time. He saw Riddle's eyes widen with desire.

He handed over the Stone before saying "And now, for your end of the bargain."

"Yes, yes, but first...Mopsy!" the Dark Lord cried out. Immediately, an ancient house elf appeared. She was barely two feet tall. Her ears hung flat against her head, as if the muscles had given up long ago in keeping them up; her eyelids were half-closed, and what little could be seen of her eyes showed her gaze to be directed at her master's feet. She wore a rag-like towel that should have been condemned years ago: its color had long since faded, appearing now as only a bleached white; it was, in several places, nothing but a few strands of the rough fabric that constituted the whole thing; it appeared to be infested with some sort of small insects, which occasionally were visible on the surface as black spots before burrowing into the cloth once more. The elf's skin was almost indistinguishable from the towel, except it was not infested with bugs.

"Yes, Master Riddle," the elf wheezed in a soft, almost whispered voice. "What do you require of Mopsy?"

"Take this back to my hideout, Mopsy," the Dark Lord said, tossing the elf the Stone; by his tone, he either didn't notice the elf's failing health or, more likely, didn't care.

She caught the stone with one arm, making the picture worse, as Harry could see the skin was practically hanging off of the bone. "Yes, Master Riddle," she said. With a slight pop, the elf disappeared.

"Now that that's dealt with..." the Dark Lord muttered, turning to Harry. He surveyed the boy with a questioning look. "I had thought you were Dumbledore's man, that you would require significant motivation to help me. It appears as though I was wrong...would you, perhaps, be willing to join me? We could be a powerful pair; we'd rule the Wizarding world! You cannot deny your magical prowess...or your thirst for authority over the peons that fill this school, this country. With the proper training, you could become my most powerful Death Eater: my right hand. We would conquer, and you could have the world at your beck and call. What do you say?"

Harry cracked an eyebrow. Was he serious? "While you are correct in saying that I am not Dumbledore's man, I have no reason to help you under normal circumstances. My motivation is to keep those I care about safe from harm. My aid this day is given only to ensure my friend's safety. As for conquering the world...should I choose to rule, war would not be my first resort: politics would. Subtle manipulation with a system already set up with me high in the ranking. Even if I did set out to rule through fear and intimidation, however, I would probably not settle for second place."

Harry wasn't sure, but he could have sworn he saw a healthy respect in Hermione/Riddle's eyes. "If that is your decision," Riddle said. "Still, if you change your mind, unless circumstances change, you will have a spot waiting for you..."he said as his spirit rose out of Hermione's body and flew out of the room.

Harry ran over to check on Hermione; he cast a few diagnostic spells, before casting a couple of minor healing spells to stabilize her body and protect against the effects of the possession until he could get her to the Hospital Wing and under Madam Pomphrey's care. He cast a Levitation Charm on her body and slowly levitated her through the various rooms; he made sure to pour a bit of the potion to go through the purple flames down her throat before going through. He passed quickly through the troll room, walked through the path made by the chess pieces, grabbed a broom from the key room (they didn't follow him this time) and secured Hermione onto it before mounting it himself. He flew above the ashy remains of the Devil's Snare and out the trapdoor, casting a minor healing charm on Fluffy to help the big mutt.

Dismounting the broom, Harry once again began levitating Hermione. Before he could make it to the door, however, it burst open to reveal several people: Hagrid in the back, who began wailing about Fluffy, the four Heads of House, and Headmaster Dumbledore, who was looking at Harry furiously.

"Hadrian—" he began to thunder.

"First, it's Lord Potter; I believe I've established this before, although I could be mistaken. Secondly, Hermione has been possessed by the Dark Lord for, at most, 15 minutes. If someone would be willing to bring her to the hospital wing for an examination to ensure there are no negative side effects, I would be most appreciative."

"Mr. Potter!" Professor McGonagall said. "What have you done?"

He glanced at her. "I've saved my friend's life, potentially. I take it there are no volunteers?" he asked.

"Lord Potter," Dumbledore ground out. "You have handed over a powerful magical artifact to a malignant Dark Lord! You have enabled the return of Voldemort! You gave a powerful, evil man—"

"A very convincing fake, yes," Harry interrupted. "Hospital Wing?"

"Dumbledore looked at him incredulously. "Fake? I think not, Mr. Potter: that was given to me by Nickolas Flamel during his visit to the school earlier this semester."

"That wasn't very intelligent of him. I mean, he trusted you to protect it from people trying to steal it, only to find out that an eleven year old was able to breach your defenses with you being none the wiser. Really, I think he should have taken my suggestion and given you a fake magically altered to appear legitimate to a cursory magical glance," Hadrian remarked with a steadily growing smirk. Seeing the look on Dumbledore's face, he said "Did that possibility not occur to you, or is your shock in regards to discovering who actually stole the Stone the first time? Professor Sprout," he asked. "It appears that I'm going to be called up to the Headmaster's office for a chat. Would you please bring Hermione to the Hospital Wing?" The plump professor nodded, before taking over Levitating Hermione, and walked away.

"We've got a lot to talk about, Lord Potter," Dumbledore said. "Come with me." He gestured for Harry to follow him, while instructing the professors to see to the chambers below.

"Very well," Harry said. He followed the old man down several hallways and corridors to his office, all the while thinking about what to do. He hadn't really confronted Dumbledore up to this point, mostly because he knew he didn't have the political power to do so without being ridiculously outclassed. In regards to the Sirius Black issue, it was possible he could convince the aged Headmaster with a calm, reasoned argument, but it was obvious that now was not the time.

Professor Dumbledore had stopped walking; they were currently standing in front of a large stone gargoyle depicting a Minotaur wielding a halberd. Professor Dumbledore called out "Pop Rocks!" and the large statue stepped aside, revealing a revolving spiral staircase. Dumbledore stepped on, with Harry following his lead, and the stairs ascended, bringing them up to a large oak door. Harry wasn't fooled by its appearance: while it appeared to be normal oak, it was far more likely to be made of Scottish Ironwood, a rare magical wood.

The strange material had been discovered by the Romans after invading England in the early rise of the empire when they'd come across wild druids who wore armor made of the wood; while it appeared quite primitive, it was harder to scratch, much less penetrate with a weapon, than Roman steel, as the soldiers had discovered. Between that and the strange nature magic that the Roman wizards had been unable to resist or copy, the two forces eventually came to an uneasy truce, where the Romans could maintain guards around a weak wall to mark their territory. They would officially have control over Scotland, but would not actually enforce their laws in the area. It wasn't until the turn of the millennia, a short time after the death of Christ (a powerful being whose magical skills and moral teachings served as inspiration for the entire Christian religion, including the powerful Divine Magick associated with Christian mages) that the Romans re-invaded Scotland, this time successful in subjugating the Highland druids with the assistance of Christian Divine Magick. They found many ancient stone circles intended to support druidic rituals, which eventually fell into disuse as the druids died off without being able to pass on their teachings.

All of this flashed through Harry's mind as he entered the Headmaster's office. Taking a glance around, he saw many things of interest: there was a phoenix resting on a pedestal over next to the staircase that presumably lead to Dumbledore's quarters. A bookshelf covered the right stone wall, while the portraits of headmaster's past hung on the left wall behind Dumbledore's massive ironwood desk. While most of the bookshelf was taken up by ancient-looking tomes, often in strange languages, the top shelf was held several odd devices, presumably ward monitors or other sensory devices. Harry felt a couple of them resonating with his own magic; why would that be? He didn't have any monitoring charms on his person or possessions, so what were they tracking?

Dumbledore sat down behind the desk, before gesturing for Harry to take a seat. After he had done so, the Headmaster surveyed him for a minute; Harry felt a light probe trace a trail across the edge of his mental barrier, but it withdrew quickly. the Headmaster finally said "Would you like a lemon drop? I find it helps students calm down from whatever recent trauma they have endured."

"Very well," Harry said, taking one from the bowl Dumbledore offered. He popped it into his mouth and, as he swallowed, felt a sharp twinge from his watch. He raised an eyebrow, before checking it. "I imagine the Calming Draught they're laced with helps with that."

"Just a bit; it is not illegal, and I find it helps more than it hurts" Dumbledore replied, his eyes twinkling a bit. He gave a small sigh, before leaning forward a bit. "Harry, this past year, I have been worried about you: to my observations, you appear to have gone dark. Throughout the year, there were some events that supported this theory, and some that indicated otherwise. There are some things I've done that I could have done better, but there is no changing the past. That being said, your actions today have proven, to a degree, at least, that you are firmly in the light—morally speaking. Your methods, however, leave much to be desired."

"You have enslaved the current Lord Higgs in a vassal pact, and your display of power has struck fear into the many of the blood purists that fill Slytherin house; this could very well drive them deeper into the hands of Voldemort. What's more, the other houses have become more accepting of the dark thoughts that fill Slytherin house's members, and it is because of you that they believe so. Your encounter in the forest is suspicious, as is the medical report Madam Pomphrey gave me regarding you."

"All of your points come from good intentions, but ultimately are without logic," Hadrian said. "Lord Higgs is the one who called for a vassal pact dependent on a duel, I merely acquiesced. I won, fair and square, while he cheated and still lost."

"He was injured, Lord Potter," Dumbledore reminded him.

"And yet, he still had the confidence to suggest such a risky venture. Moving on: my medical report is not something Madame Pomphrey had the authority to show you—nor you the authority to ask. Sorry, I've misspoken: it is authority you may possess, should you go through the proper channels to acquire them; since I know you have not, you shouldn't have seen them. Regardless, their contents is unimportant. I must ask you what is so bad about the houses being more accepting of one another. You must admit that, not only are Gryffindors getting along with Slytherins outside my circle of friends, but the Slytherins as a whole have been more accepting of the other students, regardless of blood purity."

"Regarding their fear, I believe you are wrong on this point as well; in fact, I have the perfect analogy. You mentioned how I saved a vampire in the forest. I did so because the vampires in the Forbidden Forest restrain themselves from feeding on students. Vampires are evil by nature: they dominate their victims' minds on many occasions, the feed on blood, and they have little regard for other sentient creatures as people. Despite their evil nature, they control themselves, feeding on wild animals rather than students. They do this for two reasons, presented in the classical "carrot and stick" format: if they keep to themselves, the Ministry won't bother them, and they can do almost anything they want. The Forbidden Forest is also provided as a home for them and any of their kind, so long as they behave. If, however, a student is fed upon, both you and the Ministry will descend and blast them out of existence to contain the threat to the future generations."

"It is the same in Slytherin house, and in the Wizarding world: if you give a reward for good behavior, and a punishment for bad behavior, the subject in question will quickly behave as wished by their trainer. I realize this doesn't make me sound good, but when an intellectual finds themselves surrounded by sheep, they can't help but become a shepherd. Hopefully, I'll have taught most of them how to think for themselves by the time they graduate. Hopefully, by that time, I'll have built up a reputation with them and the other members of society that I can cash in on, but that's a side benefit to improving life as we know it, wouldn't you say?"

There was a sudden flapping of wings; Harry looked up, only to see the previously resting phoenix perched on the arm of his chair. It gave a short cry that lifted his spirits before nudging his hand. Harry began petting the magnificent bird absentmindedly Dumbledore was giving him a strange look, as if pondering what he was saying, but also a little irritated by it. Finally, he said "Regardless of that, I had other things to discuss with you."

"And I with you, as well," Harry said. "However, I've been talking for a while; you take a turn."

Dumbledore chuckled a bit at this humor. "Very well, if you insist. I wished to ask where you intend to stay over the summer," he said, tilting his head to peek at Harry over his half-moon glasses.

Harry felt a needle of magic ding off his shields, but paid it little mind. "Well, usually Lord Potter would stay in Potter manor; unfortunately, it was attacked during the 70s and has not been renovated since then, on account of there being no then-current Lord. Now that I've been emancipated, I've had Gringotts rebuild it, renovate it, and touch up the wards. Unfortunately, it will be a year or so before it's finished, or so I'm told."

Dumbledore said "The wards on Potter manor were very strong...of course, a direct attack from a powerful wizard with enough support brought them down once; it could happen again."

"Not with the touch-ups Gringotts will be adding," Harry said, smiling briefly. He frowned suddenly. "Of course, it will still be almost a year before it's ready...I suppose I'll rent a room somewhere..."

"If I may make a suggestion, Lord Potter," the aged Professor said. "As you're probably aware, I am the one who placed you in the care of your aunt and uncle. I did so because of the...unique circumstances at the time. Nearing the end of the war, Voldemort was out for your parents' blood because they had been able to escape from him on multiple occasions. They went under the protection of a Fidelius Charm, but for some reason, Lily was still worried. She had brought along her notes from her office in the Department of Mysteries and was reviewing them constantly. It is my understanding that she placed some sort of blood ward on you that could be triggered by her death. It was the blood ward that destroyed Voldemort that night, and it is why you were placed with a your aunt: so long as you live with a blood relative and can call their home your own, you have a protection from those seeking retribution for the Dark Lord. These wards repelled many such attacks throughout your childhood."

Harry sat, pondering this story. It was full of holes, such as the fact that it ignored three of Statler's rules of abjuration: wards attached to a person cannot be transferred to a location, wards attached to a person are either extremely powerful and expire quickly, or are quite weak and last forever, and finally that wards placed on a person fade away if the caster dies. Still needing to get Dumbledore on his side, however, he did not mention this. Instead, he smiled, agreed to spend the summer at Privet Drive, and made a mental note to figure out what Dumbledore's motivation here was.

"Now, I believe you had something to ask me, as well?" Dumbledore asked.

"Yes," Harry said. "I wanted to know why you opposed giving Sirius Black a trial."

Dumbledore's expression turned grave for a second, before answering. "While you are old enough to be curious in this matter, I do not believe you are quite old enough or mature enough to handle such emotional proceedings. The evidence against Mr. Black was too ubiquitous to ignore, and he admitted his guilt to the Auror who arrested him. He will stay in Azkaban for a while longer...a few years, perhaps...before he brought to trial tell his motives. I am not willing to compromise on this matter, Lord Potter. Unless significant evidence can be brought forth, Sirius Black will remain behind bars. Now, I believe I've kept you long enough: if you have nothing else to ask me, you are free to go."

"I have nothing to ask, but I do have something to tell," Harry said. This conversation had made him question the old man's true motives, and he believed that Dumbledore could be made to see the error of his ways with the right push. But Harry was aware that the change needed to come from Dumbledore, not Harry, and so he decided to give the Headmaster a clue on how to make the school safer. "This year, Headmaster, there were two supposedly dead men wandering the halls of Hogwarts. One of these men has endangered several students; he revealed himself this night. The other is still hidden, and from what information I have gathered, he has been here hiding for several years now, at times almost literally right under your nose. Furthermore, his hiding place of choice raises some interesting questions about his...preferences." His speech finished, he turned to leave. Just before he reached the door, he felt a spell impact his Occlumency shields and begin eating away at them. He squashed the cause, and began repairing his shields. "Have a good day, Headmaster," Harry said, giving no outward appearance of having noticed the attack, the door closing behind him as he left.

Dumbledore sat at his desk, shocked at the battle of wills. His spell had been nearly invisible, without words or wand movements. The boy had no warning, and Albus was sure no one could maintain such shields all the time. Not consciously, anyway. What's more, the list of excuses he made to him himself regarding his attempts to control the boy was getting shorter by the day: Fawkes' approval was a big hit to his confidence in Hadrian's dark nature. He turned to the phoenix, one of his only trustworthy confidants, and asked "I'm doing the right thing, aren't I? It's for the Greater Good, after all...right?"

As always, Fawkes had no easily understandable answer: he cocked his head briefly, before giving off a short burst of melodious phoenix song that warmed Albus' heart before he disappeared in a flash of flames, leaving the armchair slightly burning. Albus put out the fire while considering what to do next.

Hadrian wandered down the corridors, heading back to the Great Hall. He was thinking about all the new issues that had been brought up by his conversation with Dumbledore, and was so caught up in his musings, that he nearly missed the figures following him that had come out of the last classroom he passed. Harry subtly readied his wand, holding it so that it was hidden by his sleeve. After a minute of tailing him, one assailant whispered a command to the others: "Now..."

Harry, having planned his strategy, aimed his wand directly behind him and cast a wide-area sticking charm with the whispered incantation "Affigo." A loud thud and swearing from behind him indicated that at least one of his attackers had been affected and had likely fallen flat on their face. He took note as he ducked and rolled to his right that two spells had flown through the space where he had been. Turning to face his attackers, he saw a daunting sight: three seventh year (one Slytherin, one Ravenclaw, and one Gryffindor), one of whom was lying on the floor, his boots, palms, and face adhering to it. This left the other two firing spells at him, forcing him to shield. They communicated, and then one of them began bombarding his shields with various high-powered curses, while the other began unsticking their friend.

Harry cursed: if it was just the one providing cover fire, he could simply wait for him to get tired. Holding a shield against a bombardment was a much less magically stressful than providing such an offense. It was only feasible if the attacker was much more powerful than the defender. Of course, usually it would be no contest, but Hadrian was much more powerful than the average first year. That being said, with three people hammering his shields, he couldn't just wait them out. He had to gain an advantage.

Concentrating on maintaining his shield, Harry reached into his bag and pulled out one of his side projects: a banshee vial. Tossing it towards his opponents, he watched it sail through his shield, which wasn't quite powerful enough to stop physical objects. He dropped his shield as soon as he saw them aiming for it and cast a quick Silencing Charm on his head. Three spells hit the vial at the same time, releasing its contents.

Harry had been doing some experimentation with various alchemical substances over the past few months and had come across an anomaly that made liquid into sound. The substance produced a noise so loud it shattered glass from several meters away. Harry was unsure exactly how it did this, as he had been unwilling to risk his own hearing when he deduced the hypothetical substance's properties and had, immediately prior to making it, had magicked his ears to silence much as he had just done.

The vial was strong enough to contain the noise, and was permanently silenced as well for the same reason. It was not, however, strong enough to withstand multiple blasting hexes. The result was three boys staggering around, clutching their heads. Harry noticed that there appeared to be blood running out of their ears, but paid this little attention: it was expected, given that the sound produced by the substance was a little over 130 dB. Even through his charm, Harry could still hear it as little more than a whisper. He took a step forward and casting a Stupefy at the one on the right, who promptly dropped to the floor, unconscious. Elsewhere in the castle, students and staff alike paused as an ungodly screaming seemed to come from somewhere on the ground floor; it stopped several seconds later, but many people were panicked at the possibility that a banshee was loose in the castle. The Headmaster, whose office was only a few minutes walk away from the battle, stopped and shielded his ears with a spell. He immediately stood up and left his office to investigate the noise.

But back to Harry: hearing the vial stop, he dismissed his spell so as to use his full concentration on the battle. By this time, his opponents had recovered; he saw the other two were glaring at him with hatred, and the offensive began anew. This time, Harry kept on the move, rather than getting pinned down behind a shield. Every time one of them would go to revive their fallen friend, Harry sent a few hexes their way. "Time to play dirty," he thought to himself as he felt his energy start to flag. He sent out a barrage of minor spells and hexes, all intentionally missing his enemies' bodies. Suddenly, the one on the right tripped: he had moved to dodge a Cutting Curse Harry had sent his way, only to realize his shoelaces had tied themselves to each other.

But Harry's luck had finally run out. The other boy managed to make a Reductor Curse blow a suit of armor into Harry, dazing him. A quick Expelliarmus took away his wand. The older boy smirked, triumphant, and turned to help his friends. The three of them advanced towards Hadrian once they had recovered, and stood over him.

"Not so tough, now, are you Potter," jeered the one who'd spent the fight either stuck to the floor or unconscious. He was speaking a little louder than normal, likely due to the stress of the situation, and the fact that his ears were broken from the overwhelming sound. "Think you can tell us what to do, make us put up with mudbloods and squibs and blood traitors? We've been planning this all year, waiting for you to be alone, far from the professors, so that we could teach you a lesson. And now we will."

Harry smiled weakly, still injured from his impact with the full plate sentry armor. "You don't understand how sound works do you?" he said, despite knowing they couldn't hear him.

"SHUT YOUR MOUTH POTTER," yelled the one who'd disarmed him. "WE'RE GOING TO MAKE YOU PAY FOR ALL THE SHIT WE'VE HAD TO PUT UP WITH!" His face split into a grin as he screamed "CRUCIO!" The other two quickly joined in.

Harry's world became one of pain: pure overwhelming pain. He fought the curse for a few seconds, before settling into it like it was an old friend. Knowing that if the curse was held too long, he would suffer brain damage, Hadrian wasted no time in forcing his mind to go through the usual process of converting pain into power. He didn't have enough concentration to transform, and so the energy simply built up. Harry struggled to contain it, before releasing it all at once. The world exploded around him, blowing his opponents away; exhaustion set in quickly, knocking him out. The last thing he heard where a faint set of footsteps.

_Later that day..._

Hadrian Potter had a splitting headache. He ached all over, and was particularly sore in a few places. Groaning as he remembered what had happened, he opened his eyes to see where he was. It appeared he was in the Hospital Wing, along with Hermione and the boys who had attacked him. They were currently chained to their beds, glaring at him. He sat up. This pleased him by itself, for it meant that he was not also chained to his bed, and was much less likely to be in trouble.

Looking around, he noticed Madame Pomphrey coming towards him with a vial of potion. She handed it to him, telling him to drink up; he obeyed promptly, and felt much better, although he still ached in places. "You've had quite a day, Hadrian," the nurse said as she busied herself at the other tables. "First, a meeting with the Dark Lord, and now an attack by three seventh years. The potion was for the Cruciatus exposure; it relieves the phantom pain left over by the curse and also eases some of the mental trauma involved."

"How's Hermione?" Harry asked, ignoring the three boys for now.

"She'll recover soon enough," she responded. "Her exposure means she'll need potions for a few days, but she'll be fine. You, on the other hand, are an interesting case: while the potion deals with the pain a bit, you shouldn't be fully recovered yet. And yet, every diagnostic spell I've cast indicates that nothing is wrong. I'm going to have you take potions for a few days anyway, just in case. Other than that, you should be fine." At this, she left, leaving Harry alone with the three immobilized hostile students and the unconscious Hermione.

After several minutes, a couple of upper year boys slipped into the room from the entrance. They saw Harry lying on the bed, and smirked. "Well, well, did Potter get in a bit over his head?" the mocked. Harry narrowed his eyes, but said nothing, acting on his hunch as to the discoloration in the corner. "Thought you were better than us, didn't you Potter? Well now, we've got you right where we want you: it's two on one—five on one, once we release our buddies—and it'll be several minutes before anyone realizes you're in trouble. We've silenced all the doors and windows, and distracted the nurse, so now you're going to gets what's been coming to you." As he said this, the boy in question raised his wand. "Crucio!"

Just before the curse would have impacted with Harry, a pillow flew into its path, harmlessly absorbing the pain-inducing spell. The boy frowned before trying again, only to have it happen again. He and the other boy both began firing the curse over and over, growing continually frustrated when it was blocked over and over again. Finally, after they'd exhausted themselves getting out-dueled by a possessed pillow, the one who'd fired first cried "Avada Kadavra!" The bright green Killing Curse ripped through the pillow, only to be blocked by a statue that had appeared out of thin air. "Oh, come on!" the boy cried out desperately. "You shouldn't be able to do this: you're magically exhausted, and you don't have your wand."

Harry shrugged. "I have no idea what you're talking about. If you're confused as to the origin of the pillow and the statue, I can't tell you where they came from. Perhaps the gentleman in the corner knows, though," he said, pointing over to where he'd seen the displaced air. The second boy turned around, before squeaking in terror; it would have been funny under different circumstances, Harry mused. For in the corner, his Disillusionment Charm dropped, stood the Headmaster, who looked quite angry at the moment. His wand was drawn and without seeming to move, Vanished the statue and summoned both boy's wands.

"Mr. Barnes! Mr. Rogers! Both of you are to be placed under arrest for the use of the Unforgivable Curses with the intent to torture and kill a first year," Dumbledore said. The boys began protesting, claiming they'd been placed under the Imperius Curse. "Silence!" With a wave of his wand both boys were secured to beds themselves. "We will let the Aurors figure that out. I would have thought that you would see the error of your ways when your friends failed to overcome Lord Potter; it appears, however, that I was wrong." He turned to Harry. "Lord Potter, it might be best for you to return to the Slytherin dorms—and Ms. Granger to Gryffindor tower—as soon as possible to prevent another incident such as this. Perhaps...perhaps you were right about conditioning in our discussion earlier. I will go find Poppy." Having said his piece, the Headmaster walked to the nurse's office to find Madame Pomphrey. After several minutes, she returned, fussing over Harry and Hermione for a minute before giving Harry a Pepper-Up potion before telling him he was free to go. She said that Hermione would be awhile, before placing a Notice-Me-Not over the bed to keep unwanted guests away (as the caster, she would ignore the effect). satisfied that his friend was safe, Harry bid the nurse goodbye before walking back to his dorm to get some rest from his exciting day.

_—June 14, 1992—_

The next morning, everyone got up bright and early. People were packing, and saying goodbye to friends, and finishing up their plans for the year. At noon, the whole school gathered for the Farewell Feast and the Awards that would be handed out. The first award was the Quidditch Cup, which was presented to Professor Snape, who looked quite pleased with his Snakes: several people could have sworn they saw him smile, but couldn't believe their eyes. The top three students for every year got a medallion for their scholastic achievement: the first year winners were Hadrian Potter (who won by a slim margin), Hermione Granger, and Su Li. Most of the others named were unknown to Harry, and weren't politically important (which explained why he didn't know them).

Finally, it came time for the House Cup to be awarded. Dumbledore stood to announce the scores. To prevent students from trying to work the system, the House Points were not displayed, but were recorded by the teachers: this almost ensured that the house that deserved the House Cup won it. "In fourth place, with 1510 points, Gryffindor!" The lions gave a half-hearted celebration; but even with a decent Quidditch Season, and with Hermione scoring over 500 points all on her own, they still couldn't make up for Ronald Weasley losing nearly 2000 points. "In third place, with 2879 points, Hufflepuff!" The 'Puffs gave themselves a round of applause; they'd done their best, but the house had suffered in the Quidditch season, and weren't known for their mental acumen.

"In second place, with 3385 points" Dumbledore began "Ravenclaw!" The field of blue and bronze gave a loud applause, before dying down. "And in first place, with a total of 3611 points: Slytherin!" The Slytherins showed their house pride in a slightly controlled, but partially raucous celebration. The banners in the Great Hall took on the colors of the house of snakes, and Professor Snape came up once again to accept the trophy. After a few minor announcements, he said "Now, I know you've all been told already, but to be clear, unless you are 17 or older, or have a legal exception, you are not allowed to perform magic during the holidays. I hope you all have a wonderful summer. Goodbye!"

The next hour was spent loading all the students and their luggage onto the Hogwarts express. The cacophony was horrible: cats, rats, owls, snakes, and toads were calling out from just about everywhere, and every time one did, you'd see a couple of students start and go to where the noise was. Harry was thankful he'd dealt with everything, including tracking down Cheshire and Hedwig, that morning. He met Hermione and Draco at the station and the three of them went and found a compartment near the back of the train.

After the ruckus had died down and the train started moving, the compartment quickly filled with people they had made friends with: Neville, Fred, and George showed up almost immediately, and were shortly followed by Susan Bones and Hannah Abbott, who started talking with Hermione and Neville, respectively. Fred and George had taken up poker when they'd seen Harry and Draco playing, and had quickly picked up the basics. Harry had a suspicion that several students would have their money "won" by the end of next year once the twins mastered the game. Daphne Greengrass showed up, as always, with Tracey Davis at her side. The unexpected addition was Su Li, who was talking quietly with Daphne. The three of them had a quick conversation with Harry before the groups that had formed started to mix and match together.

A few hours into the ride, Ronald arrived and tried to pretend he hadn't been an ass to virtually everyone in the compartment. He was generally ignored, as no one wished to talk to him, but Fred and George had a familial obligation not to let him get the living shit beat out of him, and as the oldest present, their opinion was listened to at wand point by most. So he was allowed to stay. Why he was there at all became apparent after a few minutes when the lady with the candy cart came by and Ronald began trying to beg people to buy him some sweets. At this point, even his brothers were ready to throw him out, but that wasn't necessary: when he saw no one was going to take pity on him, he stalked out of the compartment, muttering under his breath.

As the last few hours passed by, there were many games played: Wizards Chess, Exploding Snap, and Gobstones, but also poker, backgammon, checkers, and, interestingly enough, Monopoly. Somehow, Draco picked up on the gist of the game immediately, and soon no one was willing to play against him: that tends to happen when you maneuver your way into having a corner completely surrounded with hotels, all four railroads, and both utilities three games in a row. At last, the train pulled into the station, and the students began debarking. Harry, somehow, found himself having promised to spend time at Malfoy Manor, the Burrow, and Hermione's house—she'd secured parental permission, and the others were sure they'd get it, or they would send him post saying otherwise. Harry had a brief meeting with Hermione's parents (a pair of dentists with a number of well-off clients, by the look of their clothes and the address Hermione gave him for a home in the middle of London) before he made off for his own "home" at Privet Drive.

As he took a brief moment to visualize his destination, he shadow-traveled to an alley near Little Whinging. Walking the rest of the way, as per a "no visible freakishness" agreement with his uncle, he noted that, despite it being several minutes since he'd shadow-traveled, he hadn't received any warnings from the Ministry about underage magic. Filing that away, he approached the house he would be living in for a few more months. Harry knocked on the door, only giving a small sadistic smile when his aunt, upon answering the door, gave a small shriek.

"Hello, Aunt Petunia. I'm back from school for the holidays," he said before giving a grin full of teeth. "And I'm sure you've missed me just as much as I've missed you. If you'll please step aside so that I might come in, I would be able to speed the renewal process along." She nodded quickly before allowing him in, the door closing behind him. Petunia still fearful, and the Ministry unable to detect his wandless magic: it looked like it was going to be a good summer.

* * *

><p>A.N.: Ladies and gentlemen, that concludes Hadrian Potter: Darkness Rising. Please read and review; any reviews from this story after this posting will be responded to via PM. No, I will not be telling anyone what Hadrian really saw in the mirror, the thing with Fawkes doesn't necessarily mean he's a good person, and old men can, in fact, be convinced that they're wrong: it just takes a lot of clear evidence that they are willing to listen to.<p>

The story of Hadrian's rise to power will continue in Hadrian Potter: Darkness Returns.


	12. Epilogue

Epilogue: Book Two

The story of Hadrian's rise to power continues in _Hadrian Potter: Darkness Returns_...


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